


Handful of Silver

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alien Biology, Egg Laying, Embarrassment, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Relationship Examination, Seeker culture, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream's time Earth-side has some startling ramifications, and now he's stuck making some unsavory decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be putting chapter relevant warnings at the top of each chapter, in addition to the ones that apply to the whole fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Medical setting, medical examination.

It had started with his EM field. Strange fluctuations that, try as he might, he was unable to determine the origin of. Starscream hadn’t been too bothered. Such things weren’t necessarily uncommon. Simply an external manifestation of an internal error- that’s how medics liked to put it at least. When his internal readings all came back within acceptable parameters he had given the fluctuations up to being some small benign glitch, and tried to push it from his mind.  
  
Still, the flares had the unfortunate effect of being completely fragging humiliating. Especially when they happened near the troops. At best they reacted like he’d just walked over and kicked them, shooting confused glances in his direction. At worst they would press back inquisitively, even somewhat suggestively with their own fields, as if _he’d_ been the one to solicit _them ___. Starscream’s responding anger, tinged helpfully his rank always sent the presumptive soldier scampering fearfully back to whatever they were supposed to be doing.  
  
On duty mechs were supposed to reign their fields in to a respectable space. Close enough not to bother anyone, but wide enough that their temperament could be read. While the sudden field bursts were annoying, and drew unwanted attention Starscream’s way, they weren’t frequent enough to disrupt his work, and therefore could be ignored, at least for the moment.  
  
A few cycles after the nonsense with his EM field started Starscream began to notice another, for want of a better word, symptom. A dull ache, deep in his inner workings. The origin was again, completely unknown. The epicenter of the pain was located too low in his torso to be spark or fuel pump related, and not severe enough to warrant an immediate visit to Knock Out. He could barely even feel it most of the time- it was most noticeable if he stretched. The best he could describe it was being similar to joint which had been locked too long, and was seizing.  
  
This too Starscream chose to ignore. He would never hear the end of it if he pestered Knock Out for no reason. That and his best bet at any piece of mind these days was to keep to himself. When he’d first come back aboard there was the typical amount of punishment and being-made-an-example of, but it seemed after Megatron had finished beating his frustrations into Starscream’s plating he’d elected to leave well enough alone. Now the warlord was completely ignoring his SIC, and Starscream would be insulted if he wasn’t so relieved. He was familiar with this game, and it would be some time before he tried to push his luck again. In the meantime the less attention he called upon himself, the better.  
  
Despite his slight discomfort, according to his internal readouts he was still whole and hale. Nothing to signify the kind of inefficiency that might come with tank corrosion or a fuel line leak. His vitals read normal, his repair nanites were running at maximum efficiency- he wasn’t just healthy, he was thriving.  
  
It was what happened a few cycles later that finally caught his attention.  
  
It had been by all measures an average shift. Things had been hectic for the first month or so he’d been back on board, what with Cybertron nearly being restored, Dreadwing’s mutiny, Shockwave’s arrival, but things had finally stabilized into something like a rhythm. Mining activity on the surface droned on, they continued to fight Autobots, they continued to collect fossils for Shockwave’s little project, and the predacon continued to be a massive puncture in Starscream’s plating.  
  
He’d retired early after his shift, choosing to take his energon ration to his quarters instead of staying to consume it in the mess hall. He’d finished his report and settled down into recharge, feeling perfectly normal.  
  
Two hours later he was ripped out of recharge, vents fairly pouring out excess heat, fans churning so hard he was practically rattling. Several urgent warnings popped up on his HUD; his core temperature was running much too high. He lay as still as he could, trying not to panic, taking deep, cooling ventilations. Whatever the cause was, his temperature seemed to be slowly decreasing, and Starscream lay still, counting the rivets in his ceiling, until his core cooled enough that no new warnings popped up.  
  
That, that had gotten his attention.  
  
So now here he was, perched on an examination table, waiting for Knock Out to finish up with whatever had him so preoccupied.  
  
Starscream had been… reluctant to come here. The moment Knock Out updated his medical file, Soundwave would know, and the moment Soundwave knew, so would Megatron. Even if there was nothing wrong, Megatron would know that he’d thought there was something wrong, and Megatron was masterful at nothing if not exploiting a perceived weakness.  
  
Starscream couldn’t think of anything that might possibly be wrong, really. Unless it was some malady originating from the time he had spent rogue, nearly starved to stasis, wasting away in the squalid organic muck of this Primus forsaken planet. Everything on this rock was damp, and positively teeming. Such things were disagreeable with non-organic systems.  
  
If it was an infestation of some kind- mold spores clotting up some sensor array, for instance- best to get it cleared up now. Starscream shuddered to think of the havoc that sort of thing could wreak on his systems, and the less time he spent dwelling on that inglorious misadventure, the better.  
  
Just then the door to the examination room slid aside, and Knock Out strolled in, lazily swinging a chamois from his hand. Starscream was at first confused by the strange hollowness that followed him in, before remembering the habit of medical deference. Knock Out’s normally boisterous field would be drawn close, closer than was typically deemed proper, for the duration of Starscream’s appointment. Despite this one professional courtesy, any other medic might have treated a visit from one of his commanding officers with a bit more urgency. Starscream felt like he’d been here vorns, and couldn’t help but seethe.  
  
“Finally.”  
  
Knock Out offered his most winning smile and quickly subspaced the cloth. “Been waiting a while, have you?” As if he didn’t know exactly how long he’d made Starscream wait. Starscream cycled his optics.  
  
“Let’s get right down to business then, shall we? You made it seem urgent, but you hardly look injured. You’d better not be wasting my time, commander, I’m very busy.” That much Starscream could believe was true- the Autobots tore through squads of vehicons faster than they could be patched up. The ones that came back, at least.  
  
“There’s something wrong.” He said. Knock Out gave him a look that Starscream didn’t need his EM field to feel insulted by.  
  
“If you want my help you’re going to have to be more specific.” Starscream just held up his wrist.  
  
“It doesn’t matter- there’s something wrong and I want you to run a full diagnostic. I think my… planetside stay might be having some residual effects.” Starscream punctuated this by gesturing with his arm. Knock Out sidled up to the examination table, and took the offered limb. He worked two digits underneath Starscream’s missile housing, and felt around until they both heard the click of the medical panel sliding out of place.  
  
Even as tightly drawn as Knock Out’s field was, this close it was impossible not to feel the prickling of his curiosity. Starscream made sure to suffuse his own with impatience-annoyance.  
  
Knock Out did a poor job keeping the amusement from his voice. “Let’s see what we can find, shall we?” There was another click, and Knock Out’s own medical port opened, on his left servo, just above his wrist articulation. He spooled out the cable, and slotted it into place in Starscream’s port.  
  
There was a heavy pause as Knock Out’s medical authorization was scanned, and shortly after admitted. Starscream suppressed the familiar shudder of revulsion at the feeling of a foreign presence pulling at his code. It always felt like such an invasion. Knock Out could hardly read his thoughts like this, but the information being shared was rather intimate. Everything from energon consumption, spark frequencies and core temperature logs to valve acidity.  
  
Knock Out settled into his work, his optics looking distant and thoughtful as he poured over the readings he was receiving.  
  
Starscream waited uneasily, flicking his wings in tight circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first fic for this fandom. I'm drawing inspiration from a variety of sources and I hope I can get something unique across. And just a bit of forewaring: Megatron/Starscream is 'end game' but not in the traditional way. I'm not gonna try to make out their canon relationship to be anything other than what it is :)


	2. A Diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: medical setting.

Starscream was starting to get nervous. Well, not starting. He’d started feeling nervous the moment Knock Out’s carefully composed features had twisted in confusion and he’d momentarily lost reign of his EM field, broadcasting what Starscream had clearly felt as _shock ___.  
  
It was a few clicks more before Knock Out, evidently finished, began to extract himself. Finally he reached over to unplug his medical cable, which automatically coiled back into its housing.  
  
Starscream wasn’t certain, but Knock Out almost looked amused.  
  
“According to the readings you’ve been experiencing thoracic discomfort and difficulty maintaining EM radius. Most recently, your core temperature,” a tight smile and a wink, “well, let’s just say you’re running hot.” Starscream narrowed his optics.  
  
“Yes, yes, I knew all that. If that’s all you have for me I don’t know why I even bothered coming to you.”  
  
Knock Out tutted, _tutted ___, at him, and continued smoothly.  
  
“Ah, but what you don’t know is far more interesting! You’ve also got unusually high readings of a number elements. Silver, Iron, zinc, mercury, lots of carbon, I won’t bother listing them all.” Now Starscream was listening. As far as he knew, all those elements were safe for consumption.  
  
“And?” He urged. Knock Out paused- he probably thought it was dramatic.  
  
“Congratulations, commander. You’re compiling.”  
  
Starscream considered. Compiling? Knock Out had used an old, technical glyph. Old enough, Starscream realized suddenly, that it hadn’t been used in nearly 4 million years.  
Comprehension opened up on him like an airlock and sucked all the animation from his frame. He had to reset his vocalizer before he could speak, but even then his voice creaked with shredding static.  
  
“But that’s impossible! I’ve-I’ve been using the same energon as you and everyone else on this ship!” This was beyond anything he’d expected. Strange Earth molds, fuel line corrosion- those he could understand, expect even. This was,- and he could feel the shuddering of his wings echoing along the rest of his chassis,- without precedent.  
  
Knock Out had the audacity to look smug.  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t say I’m surprised.”  
  
Starscream let out a noise that was equal parts scoff and growl, and shriekingly indignant.  
  
“What, dear doctor, could you possibly mean by that?”  
  
Knock Out crossed his arms over his chestplates and vented a sigh. He wasn’t a fan of lengthy explanations- it was of his opinion that if he knew what he meant, then everybody should.  
  
“You were out there licking energon dust off the walls of dried up mines for Primus knows how long. Earth mines. Mines rich in mineral deposits. What I mean, Starscream, is it was either this or lead build up.”  
  
Starscream bit back something snide as he pushed himself up from the examination berth, and pinned Knock Out with an expectant look.  
  
“And what am I supposed to do about it? A military vessel is hardly the place for this sort of thing.” In the early days of the war energon refinement and purifying technology had been considered even more important than the arms race, and not just because they needed to get as much use out of the dwindling supply as possible.  
  
Knock Out simply rolled his optics.  
  
“My suggestion? Lie back and think of Iacon. Or would that be Vos in your case?” Starscream spluttered.  
  
“Isn’t there any way to reverse the process?” He had absolutely no idea if such a thing was possible- the last time he’d compiled he’d been trined, and the thought would’ve never crossed his mind.  
  
“Not without extensive and incredibly invasive surgery, no. And I don’t exactly have the equipment for a complete energon line over-“ Starscream hissed, having heard more than enough.  
  
“Shut up, I need to think. Why are you laughing?” Knock Out just shook his head.  
  
“Well _flyboy ___, I’m a grounder. This isn’t my problem.”  
  
Starscream practically rattled.  
  
“As if I’d let it be your problem even if you weren’t.” Despite the venom in his words, he still found himself leaning back against the examination berth as he tried to queue some kind of response to the situation at hand. For the first time in a long time, Starscream had no contingency plan. He drew his field in as best he could to hide his state, but already he could feel his control slipping.  
  
Knock Out crossed the room and Starscream watched with growing dread as he began to enter information at the console embedded in the wall. Before he could ask what the medic was typing, however, Knock Out turned back to him and held out a datapad.  
  
“Here’s all the relevant information, plus some literature, in case there’s anything you’ve forgotten.” Starscream took the device and began scrolling through the contents. A few charts, some journals- including a rather juvenile sounding one entitled “Heat Cycles and You!” He sneered. Slowly, he managed to gather himself back up.  
  
“Are we done here, doctor?”  
  
“Just about. Now,” Knock Out had turned back to the console, “according to my readings you’ll begin broadcasting a general-level heat signature within a mega-cycle. Anyone who comes in contact with your field will be affected. It’s only going to get worse from there, so for Primus’ sake, pick someone sooner than later.” How someone could sound so condescending yet superficially obsequious, Starscream had no idea.  
  
“I’ll keep it in mind.”  
  
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me?” Knock Out gestured vaguely towards the door, already preoccupied with his report. Starscream roiled internally at being dismissed so casually, but beat a hasty retreat nonetheless. He needed time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specifics and clarification are forthcoming!


	3. Prospects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: none  
> Also I'm kinda playing mix-and-match with continuities, mostly drawing from Prime, but there's a bit of the Marvel comics and IDW comics too, so I hope it doesn't get confusing.

The door to Starscream’s habsuite had barely closed behind him when he received a comm. Knock Out must have finished updating his medical file.  
He was mildly surprised to find no more than a text-format datapacket, with markers indicating it had been sent ship-wide.  
  
 _//A reminder, no personnel may take leave of active duty unless given express permission from their direct superior._  
 _\- Command//_  
  
Starscream could’ve laughed- of all the responses he’d expected, this was by far the most irksomely typical. Megatron wanted him to know that he knew, and that no special exception would be made. He was going through what was possibly the first recorded heat in nearly 2 million years, certainly the first ranking officer to do so since the beginning of the war, and all he was getting was a reminder of procedure.  
  
Even with as long as it had been since such things were commonplace, Starscream had a hard time believing Megatron could have forgotten the chaos that followed a mech in heat where ever they went. He probably remembered perfectly well, and hoped it would hasten Starscream towards a decision.  
  
Starscream began to pace, shutting off his chronometer with a huff. The last thing he needed was a reminder of the ticking bomb within his frame.  
  
A mega-cycle, Knock Out had said. A little under four of this planet’s day-night cycles, and Starscream could say good bye to his peace of mind.  
  
He needed a plan. The only catch being there was only one plan when it came to a heat, and even considering his options was unsavory.  
  
Starscream crossed the room and sat down on his berth as he compiled a list of all the flight frames on board. He couldn’t help a grimace- the pickings were rather slim, especially for a seeker commander, first in flight, and former Prince of Vos.  
  
The first bot to spring to mind was, of course, Megatron. The thought was dismissed nearly as soon as it appeared- Megatron would never agree, and while complete trust wasn’t a requirement, _any ___level of trust would make the process easier, and there had been no such thing between them for quite some time now.  
  
Starscream flicked his wings thoughtfully as he mused over the remaining bots.  
  
Soundwave? The thought was repulsive. His frame would be attractive enough, were it not attached to that expressionless screen where proper faceplates should be.  
No, it was everything else about Soundwave that made him unappealing. Megatron’s most loyal soldier was cold and brutal, with a supercilious manner that his eerie silence did nothing to abate. Starscream wasn’t embarrassed to admit (at least to himself,) that he had a healthy wariness of the bot.  
  
Pride kept him from seriously considering any amongst his seeker armada. Starscream knew distantly that each had a distinct personality and some long unused designation, but that didn’t change the fact that in the machine of war they were all cheap, replaceable parts, and he had standards. Besides, the day any of them were able to outpace him would be the day he consigned himself to the scrap heap.  
  
Who else could fly? The insecticons? The predacon? He had no idea if either would even be affected by the mating protocols, and had zero desire to find out. He saw them both as little more than beasts.  
  
Starscream sighed, rubbing the seams along his face vents, feeling a processor-ache coming on.  
  
What he wouldn’t give to have even just one of his trinemates aboard. Then, with a familiar sting of sadness, long dulled by time, he corrected himself. What he wouldn’t give to know if just one of his trinemates was _alive ___. While certain cultural allowances had been part of the treaty that had allied Vos with the Decepticon army, they too were special exceptions that Megatron had chosen to deny his SIC.  
  
Starscream uncrossed his legs and slid himself into a more comfortable position on his berth. About the only decision he’d been able to come to was that he was desperately in need of recharge. He needed nothing more than to put this day behind him, and maybe a few hours of rest was just what he needed to clear his processor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update, things'll start getting interesting soon.


	4. A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: some mild peril, sticky sex  
> Also: Thundercracker's color scheme and general physique are based on [this toy](http://tfwiki.net/mediawiki/images2/b/b0/Primetoy-Thundercracker.jpg), though I took some liberties so he wasn't just Blue Starscream.

Starscream was being chased.  
  
What his alt mode lacked in actual sight it more than made up for in sensory arrays, and his radar indicated not one, but two pursuers, closing fast.  
  
Instead of panic, he felt only resolve, tinged with not entirely unwarranted cockiness. If that was how they wanted to play, then fine- he would play. Let them know firsthand what happened when you came after a prince of Vos on his home turf.  
  
Something else also spurred him on- a burning need to evade, to challenge, to prove his superiority in the skies to these mechs. Like a battle it singed every circuit in his frame and chased the pounding of energon circulating through his lines.  
  
He wove effortlessly, almost languorously through the spires and spans of his home city, weaving a complex map of hair pin turns and sudden drops. The buildings here looked deceptively delicate, but they were built to withstand the shattering force of a flight engine roaring past the sound barrier.  
  
Starscream noted the disappearance of one of his pursuers from his radar, only for their marker to reappear nearly on top of him. He could tell by the tilt of their ailerons they were ready for him take a dive, so of course he did the opposite.  
  
Instead of diving out of the way, he immediately kicked his thrusters into gear, climbing upwards with a thrilling roar from his engines, passing so close to his would-be captor that he felt the momentary shock-disbelief flicker of his field. He kept going, shooting up past even the tallest of Vos' towers.  
  
Starscream cut his engines at the apex of his climb, just for that moment of hangtime. Up here there was nothing but him and the sky, and a feeling like laughter. Then, with a deafening roar that nearly choked his engine, he kicked his thrusters back to life and dove back down into the cover the city provided.  
  
That little stunt seemed to have thrown the first mech, at least for now; he was nowhere on Starscream's radar. However, the second was continuing with the same dogged pace as before, matching him turn for turn. He noted with something like a thrill that the distance between them was slowly but surely decreasing.  
  
He urged himself to fly faster, to shake the persistent bot by any means necessary. The heat in his thrusters was growing rapidly, sending flaring warnings skittering across his displays. He ignored them, even as his engines began to shudder under the strain, following the unconscious and unignorable urging in his systems to not make this easy.  
  
Unfortunately the burning suffusing his entire flight system was also making him sloppy. The turns he wove through the towers were losing their sharpness, and he’d had to slow to avoid crashing. His audio receptors were picking up the roar of the other seeker’s engines, dangerously close.  
  
He braced himself for the impact a moment before he felt it, twisting into root mode. The bot on top of him had also transformed, and they fell in a tumbling mess of limbs, aft over heel. Luckily they hadn’t been that high when they collided, and hitting the ground was simply jarring, rather than painful.  
  
When the dust settled Starscream was flat on his back, wings feeling scuffed, but none the worse for wear. The other seeker had him pinned, his field flared wild and suffocating, pressing against his own, mingling their shared anticipation.  
  
The thrumming in Starscream’s spark had nothing to do with his physical exhaustion, and though his fans were working at full capacity, they did little to abate the heat in his core.  
  
Nor would they for some time, by his reckoning.  
  
He smiled cockily up at his captor, a blue seeker slightly bulkier and broader than himself, and raised an optical ridge, even as he knew he was radiating nothing but desperation.  
  
Thundercracker had caught him fair and square.  
  
Thundercracker’s flight engines were roaring, and he matched Starscream’s smile, though his optics held a kind of possessiveness. They both felt the shift as one protocol gave way to another, and Thundercracker lowered himself, every point of contact between their overworked frames searing.  
  
Neither mech said anything, there was no need. They were wholly focused on one another now- even Skywarp passing sulkily overhead, finally recovered from his blunder, barely managed to elicit a glance. Thundercracker brushed the back of one servo against Starscream’s face, before trailing down his chestplates. He let his hand rest on Starscream’s cockpit, pressing down lightly on the warmed glass.  
  
Starscream took several shuddering ventilations as charge suddenly flooded his systems, crashing through every line. Heat protocols were overriding every extraneous system, leaving patches on his coding that wouldn’t be lifted until he had been quickened.  
  
Static ripped from Thundercracker’s vocalizer as his systems began to echo the need blazing through Starscream, and Starscream pulled him into a crushing, desperate kiss.  
  
They had little regard for their surroundings- of course they didn’t. Starscream as much as owned the city. As far as he was concerned anyone who dared disturb them could rust.  
  
He felt his interface panel slide aside without any conscious command on his part, and pressed up against the thigh between his legs urgently. Thundercracker worked his servo down between Starscream’s legs and pressed his palm against his valve. He already slick with lubricant.  
  
Starscream ground down against the hand, craving the contact, as insufficient as it was, and whined against Thundercracker’s mouth. His valve was achingly empty. All words were gone from his processor, he could only press with his field, a chaotic swirl of _urging-needing-burning_. Primus, he needed a spike _now. ___  
  
Such was the height of his charge that the mere act of Thundercracker finally, finally, pressing two digits into his valve was enough to tip him over into a joint-locking overload. Thundercracker held his fingers inside, feeling the fluttering pulse of Starscream’s aperture widening and tightening, gently massaging the valve walls. Once the pulsing stopped, Thundercracker began to move his fingers, working them slowly in and out. It was little more than a formality- their bodies had long since become accustomed to one another.  
  
Starscream’s overload had done nothing to reduce his charge, and judging by how ragged Thundercracker’s ventilations had become, he was in a similar state. He growled in frustration, which quickly turned into encouraging chirring when he finally heard the click of Thundercracker’s interface panel sliding aside. The blue seeker seemed to deem him ready, and he slid his digits from Starscream’s valve. He leaned back and hooked his fingers around Starscream’s pelvic flares, positioning him.  
  
The slim seeker pressed his hips up urgently as his thighs were gently spread. Thundercracker let his spike pressurize with a groan, and it had barely finished before he was pressing the head against Starscream’s valve. He didn’t enter yet, just gently rocked his hips, letting his spike slide between the slick outer pleats.  
  
Starscream stilled, off-lining his optics, just concentrating on that one point of pressure. The world had been reduced to pure feeling, like there was nothing but the need coursing through his system, the burning of heat protocols making demands he was more than happy to have fulfilled.  
  
Thundercracker pulled back once more, before sheathing himself with one smooth thrust. Starscream let out a short shriek as he was filled, before his vocalizer auto-locked to prevent damage from the static. Thundercraker set up a quick, rough pace, the demands of the heat protocols pressing against his field making it nearly impossible to control himself. Starscream arced into each thrust, the odd angle left every line and piston in his body taught with delicious tension. He was close to his second overload, just as he would be close to every overload that followed until they merged.  
  
Thundercracker shifted one servo to press against Starscream’s pelvic plating, holding him in place as he rocked in and out. Starscream twined his legs around Thundercracker as his movements became rough and erratic, drawing him closer and deeper. His vocalizer came online with a high keen ruthlessly filled with each thrust and he reached up to trail his claws over Thundercracker’s broad chassis, wherever he could reach. He was a powerful jet, slightly larger than most seekers, though that tended to make him slower. The protocols ensured him that he’d found a good sire, one who would give him healthy sparklings, and protect their eggs.

Starscream convulsed as his second overload hit him unexpectedly, claws rending Thundercracker’s pauldrons, valve clenching around the spike inside him. Charge crackled thickly between them as Thundercracker managed a few final thrusts before overloading himself. He stilled, and Starscream trilled as he felt the sudden spill of hot transfluid gushing into his valve.  
  
  
\----------------------------  
  
Starscream awoke with a jolt, a telltale burning flickering behind his optics. Even more telling was the sticky feeling of lubricant, and the uncomfortable grating of his partially erect spike, both trapped behind his panel. His core was running hot, and his fans had clicked on at some point, but all in all not an unusual way to wake up from that type of dream.  
  
He sat up, pressing his servos to his optics, and waited for the sizzling of excess energy to dull.  
  
It had been an old memory, from the twilight of the so-called Golden Age, not long before the war had broken out.  
  
Not long at all.  
  
Starscream remembered with amusement how, an overload or two later, they’d finally dispelled enough charge to become aware of their surroundings. They’d landed in a mineral garden, the owner of which had been none too pleased, especially when Starscream had just ordered him elsewhere.  
  
He remembered being pressed onto his back and taking in the gleaming towers of his city, ablaze in the golden light of the setting sun.  
  
He remembered how, the next time he’d seen Vos from the ground, the city really had been ablaze, and there was nothing he could do to keep it from burning.  
  
Starscream shook his helm, as if to physically shake loose the memories. None of that was here or now.  
  
He’d done the only thing he could of at the time. Megatron had arrived at the wreckage, laying claim on any survivors, and Starscream had stood beside him, knowing that if he did not whatever remained of his seekers would be lost to him. He’d had no real comprehension or real _care_ for the struggles of the working class, but he knew a paradigm shift when he saw one, and had clung tenaciously to the last scraps of his State. The best way to do that had been to ride on Megatron’s contrails. The gladiator had focused the sorrow and anger of the survivors of Vos to a point- the tip of a blade he would eventually swing at Iacon.

Starscream rolled onto his side. The start of the war was something he didn't think on often, and he silently cursed the dream for dredging it up.  
He grimaced, remembering the dream's actual contents. He could still feel his lubricant seeping into the seams of his interface panel. Absently he reached a hand between his legs, and wondered tiredly if he would reach overload or recharge first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fussed over this so much, but I think I'm okay with it now.


	5. A Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: None

Starscream awoke the next morning in desperate need of a solid cube and a trip to the washracks. First he stood to stretch his aching joints. The morning ritual had taken on a new importance in the past few weeks, as a tool to measure the severity of the mystery ache in his internals.  
  
Mystery no more, he supposed.  
  
This time when he stood he very nearly pitched his tanks. He could suddenly, and vividly, feel the cold, congealed mass of lubricants clotting up his valve begin to slide sickeningly downward.  
  
Washracks first, then.  
  
He crossed the room gingerly. One of the perks of high command was having access to an en suite cleansing station. The station was luxurious by military standards, though it was little more than a claustrophobic stall with a wall mounted solvent sprinkler. It was a far cry from the pools in the palatial district of Vos, but at least it saved him the embarrassment of shuffling through the halls like this.  
  
Starcream absently offlined the quiet fuel-level alert that had been pinging him since he’d awoken as he pressed the control that would start the shower. He was barely at 25% capacity. The compiling process must be drawing to a close- as it neared completion it also grew more rapid, putting a larger strain on his systems.  
  
As he stretched under the stream he felt a twinge beneath his abdominal plating and grimaced. The acceleration process would also likely mean the pain would grow worse.  
  
The solvent dispenser had a removable head, which Starscream used to clean his uncomfortably sticky interface array. He then simply held it over his abdominal plating and cockpit, letting the seeping heat ease a bit of the ache. It was relaxing, and he might’ve slipped into hibernation if not for the uneasy churning of his depleted tanks.  
  
With no small measure of reluctance Starscream shut the dispenser off. He didn’t bother starting the dryer, solvent was astringent and he’d be dry long before he started his shift. In the meantime anything he dripped onto the floors would give the cleaning drones something to do.  
  
Feeling refreshed and relatively relaxed, Starscream left his quarters for the mess, hoping to get there before it was crowded. He knew that word of his condition would spread eventually; once he started broadcasting it would be impossible not to know, but in the meantime he would like to avoid any rumors about his increased fuel intake. Gossip was the only thing the troops were better at than getting shot by Autobots.  
  
As he walked the slight twinge from earlier matured into a dull throb, almost distracting in its intensity.  
  
When he arrived at the mess hall he was pleased to find it nearly empty. The rank and file were largely kept on different shift rotations than ranking officers, so it wasn’t really that surprising.  
  
Starscream made a beeline for the energon dispensary, making sure to grab an extra cube. He settled at one of the empty tables and quickly downed one, finally dismissing the now-silent alert that had been flashing across his HUD since he’d onlined that morning. Then he pulled a datapad out of subspace as he nursed the second cube. Might as well get a look at what the cycle had in store.  
  
He scrolled through it boredly. Flight formation drills with seeker squadrons F and G, productivity reports for the mines in sectors E Delta, E Gamma…  
  
Starscream suddenly became aware of presence at his shoulder. An energetic, self-assured presence.  
  
He turned to find Knock Out reading his datapad over his shoulder. Starscream reset his vocalizer noisily. “Can I help you?” He was honestly surprised he hadn’t noticed the medic enter the room. Knock Out laughed smoothly and met his optics.  
  
“I doubt it.” He said, then moved to sit opposite Starscream, holding a cube in one pristine servo.  
  
Not much got past Knock Out, and he glanced at the table appraisingly, noting the emptied cube. “Feeling a tad drained?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Starscream subspaced the datapad, knowing that as long as Knock Out was there he wouldn’t have time for it. “The… process is more robust than I’d counted on.”  
  
Knock Out nodded. “It’s been a couple million years, your system is probably just having a difficult time adjusting to the additional drain. Honestly, with as long as it’s been since you’ve had an upgrade I’m surprised your gestation tanks is still funct-“ Starscream silenced the medic with loud hiss and a warning flash of his field.  
  
“Don’t just go blathering about it!”  
  
Knock Out looked pointedly around the room, which was empty save for two tired looking vehicons leaning against each other and quietly commiserating at a table in the corner.  
  
“It’s not as if you’re going to be able to keep it a secret forever.”  
  
“Yes, but I’d rather have word get out on my own terms, _if you don’t mind.”_ What Starscream didn’t say was that ‘on his own terms’ meant not telling anyone, and letting mechs put two and two together once he’d started to broadcast. Knock Out looked like he might suspect what Starscream had in mind, but dropped the subject.  
  
“Fine, fine.” Knock Out took a drink from his cube, then leaned forward over the table. “But really, how are you feeling?”  
  
Starscream snorted. “Are you asking as my physician?”  
  
“As a benevolent bystander. A concerned peer.” Knock Out beamed.  
  
A concerned peer, now that was a laugh. Starscream smiled saccharinely.  
  
“Oh just fine, then. I ache all over, I’m burning through fuel, I keep glitching and I’m losing control of my field. And I’m stuck on a ship with the least fraggable mechs in the history of the Decepticon cause.” He crossed his arms over his chestplates. “Other than that I’m just dandy.”  
  
Knock Out laughed, and his optics sparkled with what was probably all-too-real amusement at Starscream’s predicament.  
  
“Good to hear. Do tell me if anything changes, especially that last one.” He purred, examining his claws. “I’ve been so bored lately.”  
  
Starscream cycled his optics, but knew better than to say anything, especially about why Knock Out might be bored. Despite the occasional irreverent joke, the medic still tended to deflect any inquiries about Breakdown, and Starscream could tell the wound still stung.  
  
They chatted for a few kliks after that, strictly professional. The tasks of the day, some mild complaining. Not about anything too specific or too loudly though- you never knew who was listening in.  
  
By the time Knock Out took his leave Starscream was feeling almost normal. The pain in his chassis had faded into something less severe, his tanks were full, and his mind was comfortingly preoccupied. He stayed at his table a while, reading over his datapad. The mess hall was beginning to fill when Starscream gathered up his empty cubes and fed them into the disposal, then headed off to start his shift. He had a few days yet to find an out to this situation, and was confident that a solution would present itself in time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one! This chapter was kind of getting long and unwieldy so I've decided to cut it up into three or so shorter chapters. Once I know for sure I'll change the total chapter count.  
> I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful comments and kudos! They mean the world to me <3


	6. A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: None

When Starscream woke from recharge two days later he was no closer to any kind of decision and, judging from the distinct lack of any kind of gestational discomfort, he was out of time to make one.  
  
The absence of pain could only mean the cessation of activity. He’d finished the first stage of compiling.  
  
He could feel it already- the heightened spatial awareness of a wide blown field. It was mildly disorientating, the increase in sensory input was like trying to watch several vid screens at once; and it would only get worse once other mechs were thrown into the mix.  
  
Starscream wasn’t so worried with how his field would make him feel as he was with what it would be saying, loudly, to each and every mech that passed through it.  
  
He stifled down a mild surge of panic. He was High Air Commander, First in Flight, former Vosian prince, and no mech had the authority to so much as _goad_ him. No mech, save one.  
  
Starscream’s wings gave an involuntary shiver and he quickly dismissed the thought. Those whose interest he caught would have no other option than to wait for him to make his choice. In the mean time they would be making total afts of themselves.  
  
He guessed this whole ordeal might be worth it on entertainment value alone, and though he knew it was probably just the heat protocols, he had to admit there was a certain appeal to being fawned over. It would appease his vanity, at the very least.  
  
As he stood next to the door to his quarters, willing himself to leave, Starscream absently ran a hand down his chassis. He looked the same as he always had. In his opinion it was one of the many advantages of being nonorganic. The creatures on this planet all seemed to become frighteningly gravid whenever they bred- it made them slow and large; easy targets. The Cybertronian form was not meant to yield and stretch in such grotesque ways- changes to one mode could mean dangerous and risky complications to the other. As a result a mech would only produce as much as they could carry- the larger the form, the more eggs.  
  
There was no need for a Cybertronian to come into the world well developed enough to stand, or to even be able to process sensory data. On their home planet they had no natural predators.  
  
He shook his head, clearing out that line of processing. There was no way he’d let this get far enough to even have to worry about the safety of sparklings.  
  
The longer he stood here contemplating his nacelle, the harder it would be to leave.  
  
Starscream straightened his backstruts and squared his shoulders, trying to exude confidence and authority.  
  
He had a shift to start.  
  
\----------------------  
  
Starscream had gotten himself all worked up for nothing, it seemed. The entire way to the bridge he had gotten little more than a few glances. Two mechs, both seekers, had even gone so far as to bow their helms as he passed. It was a level of respect he had grown unaccustomed to recently- he had earned back his old position, but he was probably about as far from Megatron’s good graces as he could get without being dead.  
  
Megatron’s moods dictated those of the troops. The troops with decent self-preservation instincts, at least.  
  
Starscream stepped onto the bridge with little fanfare. Everything was as it should be- all stations were quietly manned, all mechs were quietly working.  
  
As he made his way to his console he elicited a few stares as the handful of on duty vehicons felt the soft push of his field, and began to register the signal. No one made a move yet, nor could Starscream foresee them doing so- there was a complex hierarchy to be followed, and all that mattered in this case was that Starscream was near the very top.  
  
As it was he was only vaguely aware of the order in which things would fall. There would be some vying, naturally, and some of what might charitably be defined as wooing. In the past he hadn’t paid much attention to this part of the proceedings.  
  
Starscream looked up from his monitor to glance at Soundwave, who seemed completely unaffected.  
  
Good. Until he was able to pick someone, or a solution otherwise presented itself, Starscream was beginning to think he could handle this.  
  
\----------------------  
  
Starscream absolutely could not handle this for another cycle longer.  
  
It had been two full megacycles since he’d begun broadcasting, and he was nearly at his wits end. It had started off easily enough, it had even been rather nice; the troops were extremely courteous and were finally giving him his due respect.  
  
Then the gift giving had started. The act of trying to curry favor with a mech who found themselves in heat by giving them a token of wealth was traditional, especially among transport frames, and had originally been intended to show the ability to provide for any offsparks.  
  
No, it wasn’t the actual gift giving that annoyed him, it was the nature of the gifts.  
  
Most of the armada had very little in the way of personal possessions. What they did put the effort into keeping was usually of deeply personal value, small trinkets or mementos that reminded them of better days, or of home.  
  
In other words, it was all useless garbage. Starscream would have been insulted by such worthless tripe even if the heat protocols weren’t making him so pit-forsakenly temperamental.  
  
Still, this was a minor grievance compared to the general atmosphere of tension that had permeated the Nemesis since he’d started broadcasting. Fighting was a part of life on a military vessel- it was how the soldiers let off steam. Typically the scuffles were minor, and easily sorted. Pedes were stepped on, retribution was dealt, and everyone moved on.  
  
At least, that was what was supposed to happen.  
  
Now it seemed skirmishes were breaking out every hour on the hour, over the most trivial of things.  
  
Just earlier that cycle Starscream had witnessed one vehicon tackle another to the ground for showing up _early_ to his shift. The instigator’s justification was that he feared leaving his post early might be perceived as laziness.  
  
On a superficial level the fighting had nothing to do with Starscream.  
  
On a molecular level, however, it was a much different story. Starscream’s imprint spread through the ship like a virus, jumping from con to con, shaping the modus operandi of each individual. The code alteration was subtle but effective; a positive feedback loop that would reward a mech for coming out on top of any conflict, no matter how small. Given enough time a pseudo-hierarchy would begin to form, a feat normally impossible within the bounds of the previously established one. The mechanism was designed to encourage competition, making it easier to identify suitable partners.  
  
Starscream would do his best to ignore the part of his programming that was urging him to observe these antics. Even the best of his armada was too far beneath him to warrant any real consideration.  
  
There was also the issue of Starscream’s personal privacy. The issue being that he _fragging had none._ His field was cast wide open, broadcasting his emotional state in addition to the heat signature. For those hippy-dippy touch-drunk Autobot fools it mightn’t have been an issue. For a Decepticon it was a big problem. You didn’t get far as a Decepticon without living up to the name, and now it seemed everyone knew what he was feeling before he did.  
  
Starscream’s every relay was frayed. There was no more hiding behind sycophantic smiling and pretty wing flutters, now all the most unsavory aspects of his personality were up on offer. All his petty jealousy and casual disdain, every ounce of bitterness and resentment he used to hide behind nice manners was now out in the open. Starscream was quickly dissolving into a ball of anxiety and frustration.  
  
It was especially anxiety-inducing to make his reports to Megatron. Theirs was a relationship that didn’t need any additional tension, and Starscream’s only consolation was that the warlord likely already knew about every iota of disdain his second in command held for him.  
  
Megatron, for his part, seemed completely unaffected by the heat signature. He was more snappish than usual, and quicker to dole out punishment to the troops, but that was likely a result of all the infighting.  
  
At least it had been considerably easier to find volunteers for predacon feeding duty, even if Starscream’s fans did kick on embarrassingly loudly in the middle of the request. His core had been overheating with alarming frequency and abruptness, often leaving him leaning against the nearest wall for support, gasping for ventilation.  
  
The nervous sort of energy he was radiating seemed to be catching. If something didn’t happen- if he didn’t resolve this, or break the tension somehow, he feared the entropic emotional energy might literally cause the ship to implode. Coupled with the fighting a sort of negative feed-back loop seemed to be forming. The unspoken tension seemed to be hanging in the air by a filament.  
  
All of which was why when he received an urgent comm barely 10 kliks into his shift in the science lab, he was very nearly relieved. Urgent probably meant an emergency- an emergency meant a distraction.  
  
Starscream hurried along to the bridge as best he could, but came to a staggering halt when he was overtaken by yet another temperature surge. He sagged gratefully against the cool hallway wall, and waited impatiently for it to end, fans whirling and ventilations shuddering. As soon as his temperature began to decrease he practically shoved himself off the bulkhead, ventilations still shallow and ragged.  
  
A klik or two later he finally arrived at the bridge.  
  
There were alerts flashing on all the screens- an indication of an off-site attack. Thankfully someone had seen fit to silence the accompanying siren.  
  
Megatron stood at the command console, his imposing frame silhouetted by the central screen. He barely spared Starscream a glance as he approached.  
  
“So good of you to finally join us, Starscream.”  
  
Starscream willed the venom not to bleed into his field as crossed the walkway towards Megatron.  
  
“My apologies, my lord. There was some trouble in the lab I had to clear up.” Starscream had learned very quickly not to bring up any of the symptoms of heat around Megatron. The subject was to be carefully tiptoed around, ever present but never acknowledged.  
  
Megatron didn’t acknowledge Starscream’s excuse. He typed a command at the console and a live feed began to broadcast at the main terminal. Laserbeak on recon, he assumed. Starscream peered curiously at the screen.  
  
The feed displayed what Starscream quickly recognized as one of the more productive energon mines, deep in a heavily forested portion of one of this planet’s unpleasantly humid southern continents. There were signs of battle, then a flash. The camera swerved jarringly as Laserbeak dodged the sudden volley of laser fire, followed by the barest flash of blue armor. The screen went dark as the Deployer darted back into the cover of the dense foliage.  
  
Starscream was practically bouncing on his pedes.  
  
“An Autobot raid, sir? Should I scramble my seekers?” Megatron shook his helm.  
  
“Not necessary. While you were wasting time a contingent was being sent down.” He paused, finally casting a disdainful glance down at Starscream. From this distance it was impossible to ignore the buzzing sort of kinetic energy radiating off his second. Megatron sneered.  
  
“You will be leading the backup squadron personally. See if you can’t burn off any of that excess charge.” Starscream was instantly at attention, heels snapping together. This was just what he needed, a chance to get away from the toxic atmosphere of this ship. A chance to work his frustration out on some sorry Autobots was a bonus. He couldn’t think of a single time he’d been more grateful to be put in the line of fire.  
  
“I won’t let you down sir!” Megatron looked doubtful.  
  
“See that you don’t. I need that mine intact and in Decepticon control.” Starscream nodded. So that was why he was being sent, and not the Predacon. It had an unfortunate penchant for collateral damage, and if it used its oral flame-thrower in a mine that densely packed with energon the whole thing was liable to blow sky high.  
  
Starscream had a thought, and he smiled slyly, even as he tried to drown his field with innocent curiosity.  
  
“And if worst comes to worst, shall I initiate wartime protocol?” Starscream could tell he’d hit his mark when Megatron narrowed his optics and hesitated, even if it was just for a fraction of a second. His flared field acted as a two way street, and he could feel the flicker of Megatron’s anger, like flame.  
  
“If you lose that mine I _will_ find a way to make up the loss, starting with the energon that’s currently in _your_ lines, Starscream.” He snarled. Starscream saluted, and turned on a heel. He tried to keep the spring from his step as he left the bridge and made his way to the flight deck, but needling Megatron was just too fun, and it was sport he so rarely got to engage in these days. Megatron’s non-answer to Starscream’s query spoke volumes on its own.  
  
If they lost the mine, Starscream was not to give the order to have it destroyed. They would let it fall into Autobot hands with the hope of future recovery, a change in policy he wouldn’t dare point out directly. Resources were far too precious, it seemed.  
  
Starscream vented deeply as he exited the lift onto the flight deck. His wings flicked as his flight sensors began to pick up the eddies and currents in the cool nighttime air, eager to take flight. He’d have no such luck however; the plan was to have Soundwave bridge them directly into the mine.  
  
The vehicon squadron was already assembled, and Starscream positioned himself well behind their formation. A good commander led his troops into the fray. A smart one let them absorb the first round of laser fire. Starscream gave the command and the groundbridge materialized in front of them. He didn’t waste words giving a mission objective, they would have all already been briefed, so instead he just raised a servo in the command signal.  
  
“Decepticons, attack!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starscream's jab at Megatron will make more sense in a few chapters, promise.


	7. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: canon typical violence

Starscream leaned heavily against the door to his quarters the moment it slid close behind him. His fans strained loudly in the cool air, still trying to dissipate the heat and smoke of battle, and when he tried to draw ventilations his whole frame shuddered against the gritty feeling of fine particulates caught in his systems.  
  
Piece of slag fragging _Autobots._  
  
His aft hit the floor with a jolt when he finally gave in to the compulsion to unlock his knee joints and slide to the ground. Every seam and joint on his frame prickled from the irritation of dust and gravel having been ground into them. He began trying to clear the debris with the tips of his claws, but his servos were shaking too much to be of use. With a hissed curse Starscream slammed his servos against the ground and offlined his optics.  
  
His spark was still strumming wildly in his chest, the panic having yet to truly fade.  
  
That had been far too close.  
  


\------------

Starscream charged out of the ground bridge into a volley of blaster fire. He quickly banked left, hoping to Primus that the less-than-dignified squawk of alarm that’d ripped out of his vocalizer was lost under the general chaos of the battle. With a roll he managed to wedge himself behind a rocky outcrop, momentarily putting himself out of the line of fire.

Already he could tell this was going to be far more trouble than it was worth just to keep a few loads of ore from being stolen. He’d grumble about it later though, in the meantime he was itching for a chance to leave some scorch marks in Autobot plating.

His proximity sensors were indicating two Autobots in the immediate vicinity. The initial reports had indicated the presence of at least three. From the muffled sounds of blaster fire echoing up from the north stall he’d wager that to be an accurate assessment.

They’d bridged into one of the more open sections of the mine, where several tunnels converged into a sort of chamber. Starscream pulled up the schema from his memory banks, taking his time even as he heard the clattering thump of a deactivated mech hitting the ground somewhere off to his left. They had the advantage of numbers, but that rarely seemed to matter. At most they could expect to keep the Autobots from taking more than they could carry, and to keep casualties to a minimum.

There was a shaft directly behind him, which the map said lead to the deeper, more active part of the mine. There were two more shafts branching off the chamber, one to his north and one to the west. The one to the west angled upwards, towards the entrance, while the northern shaft branched off into a mining quadrant. Most of the energon veins on this level had been depleted, so there was little risk of the stray shots causing an explosive reaction.

There was a brief lull in the firing pattern, and Starscream risked peering out from his refuge to try and better assess the situation. It would help to know just who they were dealing with.

He could see the prone forms of two or three vehicons scattered about the ground. Determining if they were deactivated or simply knocked offline could wait until after the battle was over.

Starscream whipped his helm around, trying to determine where the invaders had gone. There!

Just beyond the entrance to the northward shaft he could see two silhouettes, obscured by the dust that had been kicked up by the first flurries of battle. One was lithe and short, probably Arcee, the ill-tempered two-wheeler with a penchant for vendettas. Slightly behind her were the larger, rounder shapes that unmistakably belonged to Bumblebee.

The firing had stopped, it seemed, because all the remaining vehicons had either found cover, dodged down one of the tunnels, or had been shot. Starscream noticed he had a clear line of fire, and he didn’t want to wait for the pair to smarten up and head back to whoever their third was. He knew from experience that they wouldn’t bridge out until they’d regrouped; more of that sappy Autobot ‘leave no bot behind’ nonsense.

Taking little time to aim, Starscream raised his right arm and fired his missile. The act seemed to break the vehicons out of their stupor, and those that could began firing. Starscream had little time to grumble about their ineffectiveness because, the moment before his missile hit its target, he realized he’d shot wide.  
The missile impacted explosively against the support wall just to the left of where Arcee and Bumblebee were, or rather, had been, as they had wisely chosen that moment to dodge back down the tunnel. The vehicons were still firing at the empty space, and the crack that Starscream now noticed forming along the wall.  
“Stop that, you fools!” He commanded, then stilled his ventilations as he felt more than heard an ominous rumble. A few pieces of debris broke from the ceiling and they were all showered with sprinkling of dust as the mountain settled around them.

The seeker was suddenly acutely aware of the thousands of tons of rock lying restlessly between him and the sky. How all of it was just looking for any excuse to follow the demands of gravity and crush them all.

There was a breathless silence, and Starscream found himself edging back towards the tunnel behind him, seeking a quick escape if worst came to worst.

When it became apparent that the mine wasn’t about to come down around them he huffed in relief. Before realizing that the vehicons were still milling around, as if hesitant.

“What are you waiting for? After them!”

\------------

Starscream vented deeply once, twice more, slowly coming back to himself, trying to purge the shakiness and uncertainty from his systems. He concentrated briefly on his field, pressing lightly against the walls of the room to which it extended. He’d been doing so every few kliks since he’d gotten back aboard the Nemesis, a kind of assurance. Everything was as it should be, he was still broadcasting, and he could no more reign in his field as he could tear the sky in two.

Dimly, Starscream became aware of a sharp pain originating under his left shoulder pauldron, where that _damned rookie_ had dared to grab him. He worked the digits of the opposite servo into the venting, feeling for the extent of the damage, and hissed sharply when he was singed by sparks. The entire shoulder assemblage was probably shot, and would have to be replaced. Oh, he would never hear the end of this from Knock Out.

Still, he was thankful. All things considered it could have been worse.

Much worse.

\------------

“But sir-“ One of the vehicons started, sounding concerned. Too concerned, for Starscream’s tastes. Frag it all, no wonder they’d all been hesitant and ineffective. It seemed that even in battle he was top priority.

“But sir!” Starscream snapped back, mockingly. “That was an order, do not make me repeat myself!”

Once they’d finally left, Starscream ventured out from the mouth of the tunnel and began to edge warily around the perimeter of the room. He’d long ago divested himself of the worst of his claustrophobic anxiety, simply out of necessity. One did not oversee as many mining projects as he had and come out of it fearing a simple lack of sky. Still, every so often he was reminded of just how far he was from his preferred habitat, and how easily it could all come crashing down.

This was one of those times. Starscream was still eager to get in on the action, but the more logical part of his processor tempered his enthusiasm for violence with caution. He’d been in one cave-in already on this planet, he’d be damned if he was in another.

Starscream was nearing the tunnel the Autobots and vehicons had disappeared into, as well at the ominous crack in the wall. He paused to examine it, to assess the severity. Regardless of the danger it posed to their current situation, if it was bad enough they would have to cease mining on this level entirely. Luckily the shaft was almost dried, but Megatron would not take the loss of potential resources particularly well. Starscream mused that he might be able to get a little creative in his productivity reports- then his blunder would never come to light.

Judging by the sounds echoing up the tunnel, the battle had resumed. Starscream almost felt himself pouting. At the very least he wanted those Autobot fools to know exactly who had foiled their scheme.

Starscream was about to leap into his transformation sequence when he felt a great shuddering wretch through his frame. He quickly aborted the movement in favor of bracing his servos against his knees and taking several deep ventilations. An urgent alert pinged across his HUD and Starscream uttered an oath- he was overheating. Again. His fans roared to full life, having already been humming lowly, both from the stress of battle and the vaguely sweltering heat of the mine. He groaned, and made an attempt to stumble forward, wondering vaguely with an overheated processor if there was something wrong with him. The temperature surges seemed to be getting more frequent.

As distracted as he was by his own physical condition, he didn’t see the attack coming. The only indication that something was amiss was a slight change in air pressure, just barely detectable via the sensitive flight sensors on his wings, a split second before something slammed into his side.

Starscream’s startled shriek was cut off as the momentum of whatever- _whoever_ had run into him knocked them both to the ground with a jolt. Starscream instantly started to lash out with his claws and pedes, trying to damage or dislodge whoever had a hold of him.

He stopped thrashing at the all-too-familiar sensation of a blaster charging against his chassis, and he realized with a start that his assailant had managed to wedge their blaster into the gap under his thoracic plating, directly below his spark chamber. He’d been pinned.

Starscream took a few moments to reset his optics; the heat pouring out of his core was disrupting his ability to assimilate visual data, and he wanted a look at who’d had the audacity to try and catch him unawares before he slagged them. Or vice versa.

The static cleared to reveal the flashy blue and yellow paintjob of team Prime’s resident daredevil youngblood, Smokescreen. He had Starscream pinned with his blaster and a servo on his shoulder plating, effectively preventing him from moving.

Gradually what Smokescreen was saying began to filter from Starscream’s audials into his, still sluggishly heated, processor, and he almost laughed as the Autobot’s tone belied the professionalism with which he’d pinned his opponent.

“I said call your friends off!”

“Get off of me, you imbecile!” Starscream hissed back, field flaring with indignation at being ordered around.

The muffled sound of an explosion shuddered up the northward stall, and Starscream noted with a renewed sense of unease as the crack in the wall, visible just over Smokescreen’s shoulder, grew longer. Someone had probably set off some blasting ore, whether by accident or on purpose as some sort of strategy, Starscream couldn’t be sure, and he didn’t much care. The explosion seemed to distract Smokescreen, however, which was all the incentive Starscream needed to begin his struggling anew.

Smokescreen’s attention was instantly back on him, and he reaffirmed his grip on Starscream’s shoulder, slamming the seeker back against the ground.

Starscream winced as he heard the sickening crunch of his shoulder armor denting under the Autobot’s unwieldy, blunted servo.

“Not until you tell your mechs to stand down.” The demand came out less forceful than intended, and Smokescreen seemed to lose focus for a second, shaking his head slightly. A clouded look passed briefly over his pale faceplates. Starscream could feel the speedster’s field pulse with confusion, and his own optic ridges knitted together in an echo of the emotion. Was Autobot training really so poor that they couldn’t even manage to threaten someone properly?

All at once realization crashed over Starscream, and he tried to flatten himself against the ground as best he could, trying to get away from the servos gripping oppressively to his still-heated plating. The heat signature would be affecting Smokescreen just as much as any other. The stupid war-forged scout probably wouldn’t even realize what he was feeling.

Suddenly feeling trapped and claustrophobic, Starscream began blathering, his tone losing its previous venom, replaced instead with the reaching, pleading one Starscream was so used to using.

“Really now don’t you think you’re being a little rash? Tackling a bot in my condition, you’re liable to get us both in trouble.” Technically speaking it was true- Starscream didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if Smokescreen had chosen to tackle him _after_ he’d transformed and taken flight.

“Your _condition?_ What are you, sick?” Then Smokescreen took to looking all too amused with himself. “Wait, don’t answer that. You got a virus or something?”

Starscream nodded vehemently, making a show of his straining ventilations. “Yes I’m quite-“ he heaved, making sure to add a rattling cough for emphasis, “q-quite ill, so if you’d just let me go..”

Suddenly the pressure on his shoulder doubled and Starscream let out a hiss.

“I don’t think so, con. You’re just trying to distract me.” Oh good, so the racecar had half a processor after all.

“How very clever of you to surmise. I’m surprised they even bother to keep Prime around at this point when they’ve got you.”

Starscream was surprised when, for whatever reason, what he said seemed to strike a chord. Smokescreen tugged on his shoulder only to knock him roughly back against the floor.

“Shut it, Starscream! Just tell your mechs to stop firing at my friends down there and then we all walk away like nothing happened.”

Starscream couldn’t help a derisive snort, even as his fans kicked on notch higher, straining under Smokescreen’s smothering presence. Smokescreen’s optics snapped a fraction wider as he heard the noise. He almost seemed embarrassed.

“Not an option, autobrat. You think we can just let you walk out of here with _our_ hard earned energon?”

He didn’t wait for a response; deciding that Smokescreen would be adequately distracted at this point for him to make his move. And it was true- the blaster pressed against his chassis had gotten gradually less insistent as the kliks had dragged on.

Starscream lifted one slender leg to trail up the back of one of Smokescreen’s, prompting the speedster to emit a startled “What-“ before Starscream jerked violently, twisting so his leg was hooked around Smokescreen’s. He used his element of surprise to topple them both over onto their sides, cursing as he rolled onto his damaged shoulder. From there it was easy work to twist out of Smokescreen’s grasp.

Starscream snapped up to his pedes despite the urgent protests from his heated systems, knowing Smokescreen would be less than a step behind him. Without a thought to the damage he might do to himself, he leapt, twisting less-than-gracefully into his alt mode.

The split second before he screamed down the tunnel he felt rather than saw the blue and gold speedster reach out for him, as if to grab him out of the air, and cold dread clenched Starscream’s spark. Protocols were finicky things, it wouldn’t take much to satisfy them. An aerial accident could do it; such things weren’t unheard of.

The moment passed when Starscream engaged his thrusters and felt Smokescreen’s digits brush harmlessly against the underside of his wing, and even with as heated as his plating was the touch still chilled him to his core.

As he barreled away from the strange encounter, he couldn’t shake the feeling of panic; the cold seeping, clenching kind of panic that dug its claws in deep and refused to let go.

\------------

The damage to his shoulder had prevented him from efficiently transitioning back to root mode, and in the enclosed space of the mine the results had been disastrous. He’d crashed directly into his own troops, effectively losing them the battle and whatever energon the Autobots had been able to walk away with. He was just lucky they hadn’t been feeling too ambitious that cycle- with the level of disarray he and his troops had been thrown into there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that the Autobots could have held the mine if they had chosen to.

It was a blessing really, it meant Megatron had been merely angry instead of furious. Megatron spent so much time in anger that Starscream had long ago learned how to identify the gradients. A furious Megatron would have made good on his threat from before the mission. When the warlord was ‘just’ angry with him he could expect to escape with little more than the pinpricked fraying of claw gouges on his neck cables.

Come to think of it, Megatron had reacted rather oddly when Starscream had finally stepped out of the groundbridge back onto the Nemesis, in that he had _underreacted._ The mission had been a failure on all accounts, and while Starscream would never admit it, he could see how it might’ve been the slightest bit his fault. He’d expected a throttling.

Instead Megatron had given him an indecipherable look, his entire frame taut with a barely leashed anger. And yet, something had held him back. He’d told Starscream to get out of his sight.

Megatron hadn’t raised a hand against him.

Not that Starscream was complaining, it was just unusual, and disconcerting in the way all changes to a well-established routine were.

Starscream wondered what could have brought about the change. He had a good idea- there had been only one major change since the last time he’d failed his leader.

Starscream couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or choke on his own disgust.

More years of service than he cared to count and something as trivial as a heat was what finally stayed the mighty Megatron’s hand.

How many of those years could actually be counted as years of _faithful_ service was another matter entirely, and completely beside the point.

Megatron was afraid to harm him. Perhaps he was afraid Starscream would run.

 

Perhaps he was afraid he would give chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 12/13 - Sorry, just wanted to add something saying it might take a little longer than usual to get chapter 8 out because I'm not gonna publish it until chapters 8, 9 and 10 are all completed. Chapters 8 & 9 are gonna be a little bit different so I'd like to have them done and out of the way before we start heading towards the 'climax' of the story ;)   
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Interlude pt. 1: Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Interlude aka Ratchet explains the Nightbirds and the Bumblebees  
> Theres gonna be three parts to the Interlude, also I had to change the chapter count again because there was only supposed to be two. It's more of a guesstimate at this point tbh.  
> Bumblebee's 'speaking' the way he does in the show, but since the other 'bots can understand him I just used regular dialogue for the most part? idk what standard procedure is but  
> thats what i did
> 
> Chapter Warnings: medical setting/examination

“Hey ‘Bee, got a minute?”  
  
Smokescreen stood awkwardly at the entrance to the sparring room, as if waiting for Bumblebee’s assent to enter.  
  
Bumblebee glanced up at Smokescreen from his place on the floor and chirped out,  
  
“Sure, what’s up?”  
  
Smokescreen smiled and approached his friend. Bumblebee had wandered off as soon as he’d gotten the all-clear from Ratchet, saying he wanted to do some recalibrations on his firing systems. Smokescreen knew the feeling; he’d had to do more routine maintenance since he’d landed on this mudball of a planet than he’d ever had to do on Cybertron.  
  
The room was spacious and a lonely sort of empty, and like all structures built by this planet’s military forces, utilitarian and bleak. Smokescreen felt compelled to sit across from Bumblebee, as if that could somehow combat the cavernous space around them.  
  
“You notice anything weird about that raid we just went on?”  
  
Bumblebee shook his head, his field and optics sparkling with amusement. “You mean the fact that the ‘Cons were somehow even more disorganized than usual?”  
  
Smokescreen let himself laugh a little, despite the very real concern gnawing at him. He’d been feeling unsettled ever since his encounter with Starscream.  
  
“No, not quite.” He hadn’t been lucky enough to see the actual collision, but Bumblebee and Arcee’s descriptions had been vivid. “Did you get anywhere near Starscream during the fight?”  
  
Bumblebee shook his head, and his optics whirled to focus, all attention taken away from his repair job. “Why, was there something off about him?”  
  
“I’ll say. He field was like..” Smokescreen gesticulated vaguely, “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before!”  
  
Bumblebee just cocked his head curiously, vocalizing a low binary tone that basically translated to _inquiry//explanation._  
  
“It was all over the place, kinda like, y’know, when you get overcharged and you can’t be bothered to control it?” Too late did he realize that it had probably been some time since team Prime had had enough excess energon for anyone to get overcharged. His own memories only seemed recent due to the time he’d spent in stasis.  
  
Bee knew what he was talking about though, and burbled contemplatively. “Why would he leave himself so vulnerable?”  
  
It was a fair question, and Smokescreen had no idea. Like he’d said, the whole thing had been strange. Any experienced soldier could control their field as easily as ventilating. It was essential to both be able to communicate with your comrades and shut down that communication when faced with an enemy.  
  
“His field wasn’t all. The only reason I was able to catch him at all was because he stalled out. Plus he was running… hot.”  
  
“Hot?”  
  
“Y’know, like…” Smokescreen glanced around the empty room, doorwings flicking slightly to cover his embarrassment, before leaning in conspiratorially, _“Hot.”_  
  
Bumblebee’s optics cycled wide in comprehension and alarm. “Gross,” was the first thing out of his vocalizer, followed by, “You mean like he was looking for a frag?”  
  
Smokescreen drew up into himself, face scrunched in distaste. “Not exactly. It was just…weird.” He could feel Bee’s field flicker with frustration at how vague he was being. Not that Smokescreen thought that he could describe it any better. And he definitely wasn’t going to bring up how, when he’d had Starscream pinned, he’d felt weird too. It had felt, in a strange sort of way, _right._ The same kind of _rightness_ he’d felt after they’d gotten the Decepticons on the retreat. Winning always felt nice, but not like that.  
  
Quietly, Smokescreen decided to bring up the bulk of his concern. He had no idea why he’d gone to Bumblebee with this first; probably because they were close in age, and so he liked to think, close in experience. Granted it seemed his time in stasis had given them a gap in maturity that Smokescreen was still trying desperately to close.  
  
“I’ve been feeling weird, too.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Since the fight I mean. It’s probably nothing.” _But…_  
  
Bumblebee looked every part like he was giving his admission some serious processor power, which Smokescreen appreciated. Finally, the scout spoke up.  
  
“You said he was running hot. He might’ve had a virus. I’d go see the Doc.”  
  


\------------

“And what, exactly, do you mean by _weird?_ ” Ratchet huffed in exasperation.

“Well,” Smokescreen’s optics flitted nervously around the secluded corner of the military warehouse that they’d set up as an impromptu medbay and triage unit. Most pointedly his gaze lingered on Optimus, who was hunched over a computer console quietly compiling and organizing the team’s medical files, as he often did at the end of long day. He looked serene.

Smokescreen supposed that, in a way, it was as close to a recreational activity as Prime got. Still, it had taken him two days to work up the courage to go see Ratchet, and that had been on the condition that he would _only_ be seeing Ratchet.

Optimus seemed to recognize the blunt silence as being directed as him, and he nodded graciously in Smokescreen and Ratchet’s direction.

“Do not let me disturb you.” He then turned his bulk back towards the screen, slipping easily back into the datastream.

Smokescreen rolled his shoulder joints uneasily. Ratchet was looking at him expectantly, and while Smokescreen didn’t consider himself easily intimidated, there was something nerve-racking about staring down the medic. “I don’t really know how to describe it.”

This apparently wasn’t the answer Ratchet was looking for, and he grumbled something Smokescreen didn’t quite catch.

“What time did you start feeling ‘weird’?” The medic then closed the distance between himself and Smokescreen, his left servo cycling through alts until settling on an observational light. He shined it into Smokescreen’s optics, testing the automatic reflexive action of his optical aperture.

“During the raid on the mine.” Smokescreen stifled down a surge of anger at having his space invaded. Why should he be angry? He’d come to Ratchet for help, after all. “After I engaged Starscream.”

Ratchet spluttered, and withdrew the light.

“You shouldn’t have engaged an enemy commander on your own.”

“I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t had the clear advantage!” Smokescreen snapped, far more heated than he had any right to be at the admonishment. He noticed Optimus pause in his work and glance over, and quickly back-pedaled, cowed by a simple look. “What I mean is, he was behaving strangely, almost like he had a virus. I was able to overpower him. But now I’m feeling strange so I thought-“

“So you thought you’d better play it safe.” Ratchet concluded. He’d transformed his hand back, and now pulled another diagnostic tool from subspace. A vitals scanner, less in-depth than a hardline connection, but good for getting a general idea.

Ratchet slowly passed the vitals scanner up and down Smokescreen’s chassis. “What symptoms was he displaying?”

“I got the jump on him because he froze up. I think he was overheating. He was running really hot.”

“Ah-huh.” Ratchet nodded, continuing his scan.

“The weirdest thing was his EM field. It was like he couldn’t control it.” Ratchet glanced up at that, optics narrowed in thought. Smokescreen shifted on his pedes.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but my scanner is picking up on an electro-magnetic anomaly. Do I have your permission to run a full scan?”

“Uh, yeah.” Smokescreen let himself be led back to the examination berth and sat down. He hadn’t actually been prepared for the possibility of something being wrong. He’d hoped he was just being paranoid.

The metal of the exam table was cold as he settled back. Smokescreen winced when Ratchet plugged into him, medical clearance battering down his firewalls almost instantly. The foreign presence in his code was almost like a physical sensation under his plating, an itch he couldn’t scratch. Smokescreen resigned himself to a long, uncomfortable wait. But Ratchet was quick and efficient, and as soon as Smokescreen relaxed, the medic was disengaging. It was almost as if he’d known exactly what he was looking for.

And the look on his faceplates was not at all reassuring.


	9. Interlude pt. 2: Where Sparklings Come From

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for the overwhelming positive response to the interlude! Im glad you guys liked it, honestly I expected people to just want me to get back to the plot.  
> Anyway, this chapter isn't especially long, even though it felt like it while I was writing it, probably because it's dialogue and information dense.  
> For clarification: Smokescreen went to Ratchet about a day or two after his conversation with Bumblebee, not right away.  
> Chapter warnings: in-depth discussion of breeding/reproductive cycles, mechpreg, and all that fun stuff.

Smokescreen pushed himself up from the examination table. “That was quick. You find what you were looking for?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Ratchet shook his head. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. It’s impossible.” Before Smokescreen had a chance to ask what was so impossible, Optimus beat him to the punch. Apparently at some point they had drawn his attention. He’d gotten up and now made his way over.  
  
“What is?”  
  
Ratchet glanced between Prime and Smokescreen, as if deciding whom he should address.  
  
“The disturbance in Smokescreen’s field is consistent with a heat response signature. Which is impossible because that would mean…” He met Optimus’ optics, sharing a moment of understanding.  
  
Optimus interjected, voice even and contemplative. “Improbable, old friend, not impossible.”  
  
Smokescreen, for his part, was completely lost. Heat response signature?  
  
He was definitely missing something.  
  
“Excuse me, what?”  
  
Neither mech seemed to hear him, too caught up in their own theorizing.  
  
Ratchet crossed his arms across his chassis, motioning with one hand as he spoke. “We know Starscream was rouge for a number of months, most likely without a means to process energon for at least part of that time. But it would take _years_ to build up enough of the compounds required to begin the compiling process.”  
  
“Unless Starscream was close to the beginning of his cycle when the war began.” Optimus suggested.  
  
“The only way to know for sure would be to access their medical grid.”  
  
“And perhaps not even then. Very few records from that period of time remain. Cybertron’s information infrastructure fell very early in the war.”  
  
“Well, whatever the case, it’s happened, and now that it’s happened we have to deal with it.” Then Ratchet quirked his optic ridges. “Do we deal with it?”  
  
Smokescreen tried again. “What-“  
  
“The suggested course of action would be to avoid all contact with Starscream until such a time as we are certain the problem has been resolved. We cannot risk the impairment of even one soldier.”  
  
“Of course, of course.” Ratchet flapped his servo dismissively, before his attention finally snapped back to Smokescreen. “And what about him?”  
  
“Yeah! What about me?” It seemed he finally had their attention. “What are you guys even talking about? Heat response signature? Responding to what?”  
  
Ratchet scoffed. “Responding to Starscream’s heat broadcast, of course. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’d be impossible not to.” The blank look on Smokescreen’s faceplates prompted Ratchet further. “Starscream didn’t have a virus, he’s in heat, at the beginning stages of a reproductive cycle.”  
  
Smokescreen very quickly cross-examined the term against his databanks, but came up short of an actual explanation. As far as he could tell ‘reproduction’ was a thing organics did, when they wanted to create more organics. Like interface, but with an evolutionary purpose.  
  
Thankfully, Optimus seemed to understand Smokescreen’s confusion. He placed a servo on Ratchet’s shoulder, catching his attention, and pitched his voice lowly.  
  
“Ratchet, I believe young Smokescreen lacks the context to understand such a subject.”  
  
Smokescreen could feel understanding flicker into Ratchet’s EM field, and the medic grumbled, “Primus save me from younglings.”  
  
Smokescreen had long ago grown impatient for an explanation, and he glanced between the two older mechs. “What subject?”  
  
There was a pause as Ratchet looked back at Optimus, who still stood grasping Ratchet’s shoulder plating.  
  
“Well, Optimus? You _are_ the expert in spark-creation.”  
  
If Smokescreen didn’t know better he’d almost call the expression on Prime’s face wry.  
  
“And you are the expert in matters both mechanical and biological.”  
  
Ratchet sighed before shrugging off Optimus’ servo and beginning to shoo him away from the medbay.  
  
“Go. If I’m going to be having this conversation I can’t have you hanging around making him nervous.”  
  
Optimus conceded, and with one last unreadable glance, began to drift back across the expanse of their new base.  
  
Smokescreen waited in tense silence as the medic stood there, appearing to collect his thoughts, shifting from pede to pede. Finally, he spoke.  
  
“Are you aware of how new sparks are forged, Smokescreen?”  
  
He nodded, watching as Ratchet began to pace. “Yeah, they’re sprung from the Well, right? Or, were sprung from the Well.” No new sparks had been created since Cybertron had gone dark.  
  
“And then?”  
  
“The spark gets placed inside a protoform.”  
  
Ratchet urged him on. “And where do these protoforms come from? How are _they_ forged?”  
  
“The Prime infuses a batch of _sentio metallico_ with a special databurst from the Matrix.” He concluded hastily. “Look I don’t see-“  
  
Ratchet cut him off, halting his own motion across the room. “Vector Sigma, actually, is the only thing which can mold the living metal into viable protoforms. The Prime merely controls the transaction of information via the Key.”  
  
“Well okay then, I still don’t know what that has to do with me.”  
  
The medic sighed, and almost visibly switched into lecture-mode. “There is another method for creating sparks. For bringing new Cybertronians into the world. One we have possessed since ancient times, but ever since war devoured our planet, it has been unconscionable to do so.”  
  
Smokescreen could feel himself trying to be shocked, but the matter-of-fact delivery of the information deadened the effect somehow. “Why haven’t I heard of it?”  
  
“The method was never particularly popular. Due to necessity it had fallen completely out of use by the time you were sparked. At one time it would have been part of your mandated education, but,” Ratchet paused, a stormy expression twisting his features, “evidently we were too busy pushing weapons into the hands of newsparks to teach them of themselves, or their culture.”  
  
The two shared a solemn moment of silence. Even Smokescreen’s most distant memories were fogged by war, he’d practically lived at the academy since the day of his creation. “How is it done?”  
  
Ratchet snorted, pointing vaguely towards Smokescreen’s lower half. “Ever wonder what that equipment between your legs was for, besides a pleasurable way to waste an afternoon?”  
  
Smokescreen felt warmed by embarrassment, and was unable to keep his doorwings from shifting uneasily. “What, you serious?”  
  
“Completely.”  
  
“But that’s doesn’t seem possible!” He said, “I may not know a whole lot about the process, but mechs don’t just appear from thin air. You need materials.”  
  
Ratchet nodded, before turning and walking over to the computer terminal Optimus had been occupying a few moments ago. Smokescreen followed.  
  
“You’re not wrong, Smokescreen. Material _is_ needed to forge the physical bodies of the sparklings.” At Smokescreen’s confused stare, he clarified, “The term for the newsparks created this way.” He then turned to the terminal as he continued to speak. “Using the more traditional method, a mech is formed with exactly as much material is needed to create their body. There is no excess.”  
  
“Well what would the point be in having more than you need?”  
  
Ratchet turned his helm only enough for Smokescreen to catch a raised optic ridge.  
  
“A very interesting question. Tell me, did you notice last week when Raf fell and injured himself?”  
  
Smokescreen remembered. “Yeah he scraped all the plating-er, _skin,_ off his knee.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“He has some sort of graft on it, right? I saw it, it was harder and darker than the rest of his skin.”  
  
“Yes, it’s called a scab, and in a few days’ time it will fall off. Underneath will be a patch of newly formed skin, skin that Raf has formed himself.”  
  
Smokescreen’s doorwings hiked in shock. “Humans are self-regenerative?”  
  
“Humans as well as practically all life on this planet. It is the very nature of their biological cycle. The fuel they consume contains the building blocks out of which they are made, and they integrate these materials into their body structures to replace the portions that die off naturally, or sustain injury. It is a process they undergo continually until the day they cease function.”  
  
Fearing Ratchet might go off on a tangent, Smokescreen tried to point them back on topic, though he could hardly remember what topic that was supposed to be any more. “That’s fascinating, but what does any of that have to do with spark creation? Or whatever’s wrong with me?”  
  
“It’s an imperfect metaphor, but one I find apt nonetheless. We, none of us, have the ability to self-generate. If we are cut, we must be welded. Our fuel does not help us in the same way as the humans’. It sustains our systems and our sparks, and nothing more. Normally.”  
  
At last Ratchet turned from the computer. He’d pulled up a diagram of what even Smokescreen recognized as the molecular structure of energon. “In its natural state energon will bond to nearby stable elements as is accumulates.” He clicked the image, and it shifted, still recognizable as energon, but its structure growing more regular and rigid, with a few foreign atoms filling in the gaps. The image was labeled ‘carbon.’ The medic clicked the image again and once more it changed, though this time less so. This one was labeled ‘silicon.’ “This is how energon crystals are formed.”  
  
Smokescreen caught himself trying not to zone out as Ratchet droned on, wishing that he’d just get to the point already. He had not been mentally prepared for a _geology_ lesson when he’d woken from recharge that morning. In fact, he didn’t believe he’d _ever_ been mentally prepared for a geology lesson.  
  
Ratchet must have felt his waning attention through his field, because Smokescreen received a swift elbow to his torso plating.  
  
Ratchet continued as if nothing had happened. “When we process energon crystals we are actually removing these impurities, returning it to a plasmatic state. Our systems run much more efficiently on processed energon, making its consumption prudent, especially in times such as these. But contrary to popular belief, we _can_ consume it in its raw state. In fact, we used to consume it raw all the time.”  
  
“What are you serious?” Smokescreen exclaimed. “I was always told to never even try it! I thought it would frag up my systems.”  
  
Unexpectedly, that got a short laugh out of Ratchet. “I suppose in a way you’re right, but not in the way you think.”  
  
Realization suddenly dawned over Smokescreen, and he smiled triumphantly as he said, “That’s where the material comes from! The impurities in the energon!”  
  
“Precisely.”  
  
“You would need an awful lot of material to create a new mech.” He still hadn’t connected all the dots, but he was getting there, suddenly invested in understanding.  
  
“Well yes and no. It often takes centuries to build up enough material stores to begin the creation process. However, I don’t think it requires as much as you’re thinking. Sparklings are born small.”  
  
Cocking his head slightly, Smokescreen considered. “How small we talking?”  
  
“About yea big.” Ratchet lifted a servo, holding his digits about three finger-widths apart.  
  
Smokescreen’s optics widened considerably “But I’ve never met anyone that small, not even on Cybertron!”  
  
“They grow! They keep consuming unpurified energon, gaining more material until they’re as big as me or you. Or Arcee. Or Bulkhead. It is a very time consuming process.” He gave Smokescreen a dry smirk before turning back to the computer. “Besides, if they didn’t start off small, they’d never fit inside you.”  
  
“They what?!”  
There was a sharp scrape as Smokescreen jolted slightly, his pede dragging across the rough concrete floor, and both mechs winced.  
  
“Oh don’t be so dramatic, it’s a perfectly natural function.”  
  
Once more, Ratchet motioned towards the small screen. Now it displayed a standard anatomy chart, zoomed to focus on the lower abdomen. Ratchet had highlighted a particular structure that Smokescreen had never really paid attention to.  
  
“Now, when the excess materials are first absorbed into the body, they lie dormant, some in here,” he tapped the vaguely triangular structure, “But mostly throughout the body, coating the inside of your energon lines wherever they happen to settle. Once enough materials accrue, the reproductive cycle begins.”  
  
Smokescreen glanced at the rows of fluorescent lights above them and suppressed a sigh. It had taken a while, but they were finally getting back to where they had started.  
  
“A mech begins to compile. Most, but not all, of the material will travel to the gestation tank, where the skeletal outer structure of the eggs begins to form.”  
  
Ratchet paused, his field tickling with amusement, as if waiting for another outburst. Smokescreen was tempted, because _seriously, eggs?_ but kept his lip components firmly sealed. About the egg part, anyway.  
  
“I always thought that was just a part of the energon ingestion system.”  
  
“Which is why we are having this conversation in the first place. You ever notice where it’s positioned?” He looked over his shoulder to make sure Smokescreen was paying attention, then tapped the lowest apex of the tank, which was connected to the…oh.  
  
“It’s attached to your valve?”  
  
“Yes. Once the materials have compiled into proto-eggs,” A new image appeared now. It was definitely egg-shaped, at least as Smokescreen understood eggs, but it looked like a low-poly render of an egg, where the flat surfaces were replaced with empty space. “The heat cycle begins.”  
  
“That’s what you were talking about with Starscream.”  
  
“And it’s also where you come in, in a way.” Ratchet turned fully back towards Smokescreen, blocky chassis now eclipsing the screen. Evidently they were done with diagrams. The light from the monitor cast the medic’s features in shadow, though his optics glowed fervently, and Smokescreen had the ominous feeling he was about to hear something he wouldn’t much like.  
  
He nodded for Ratchet to continue.  
  
“The heat cycle is marked by several things, the most immediately apparent of which is the alteration of normal electro-magnetic field functions. The affected mech, Starscream in this case, loses the ability to control their field. It also contains a very specific signal, a broadcast, telling everyone they run into that they are in need of a… partner. The signal also alters the protocols of any mech they run into-“  
  
“You mean that slagging glitch messed with my codes?” Smokescreen demanded.  
  
Ratchet didn’t seem too concerned. “Well yes, but not intentionally, and it’s only a temporary patch. If you don’t run into him again it’ll discard itself within a few cycles.”  
  
Smokescreen settled, taking a few steps back to cock a hip against the examination table. “Alright, alright, so what’s the patch do?”  
  
“Basically it encourages behavior that might make it easier for him to choose a suitor. That’s what the anomaly in your field was, by the way. Honestly, you shouldn’t even notice much of a difference. You’ll be fine.”  
  
Smokescreen could still sense that he wasn’t quite getting the big picture here, though everything was dangerously close to locking into place. Less a puzzle and more a trap. “But what’s he need a partner for? If he’s managed to get all that material into his system, that should be the end of it, right?”  
  
Ratchet’s gaze flicked over Smokescreen. “Spark creation. It’s not just protoforms being created in those eggs.”  
  
“How?” He’d thought sparks came exclusively from the Well.  
  
“Simply put? The excess of spark-energy released in a merge quickens to each proto-egg, imbuing it with a life, or at least the potential for one. They’re not really sparks at first.”  
  
Embarrassment flooded Smokescreen’s systems, causing his vents to splutter pathetically. Then if he ran into Starscream again he might want to-? The queasy warmth of humiliation spread through his lines, itching far worse than Ratchet’s examination of his code had. He quickly diverted his optics. “Oh.”  
  
Ratchet didn’t seem perturbed at all, and he continued on, grin unseen by Smokescreen.  
  
“And it’s not as if he’s got all the material either. Once he’s got a partner the heat protocols will _really_ kick into gear, prompting fluid exchange.”  
  
Smokescreen was only half listening, too caught up in the fact that Starscream has basically imprinted him with a convoluted request to _sparkshare_ , whether he’d meant to or not. He caught the last part about fluid exchange, and was about to ask for clarification for about the millionth time when everything clicked into place with terrible clarity. Ratchet’s implication that interface equipment was somehow involved, his insistence that Smokescreen note the location of the gestation tank adjacent to the valve, _fluid exchange._  
  
“Oh! Oh, gross, Ratchet! You mean I would’ve wanted to ‘face Starscream?!”  
  
Evidently he’d said that too loud, as there was suddenly a loud clatter from across the warehouse, followed by a grumbled apology from Wheeljack. Smokescreen hid his face behind a servo.  
  
“Not unless he picked you, and you were able to prove yourself.” Ratchet at least had the decency to keep his mirth out of his voice, if not his field.  
  
Smokescreen rubbed his palm into his forehead vent. “Great.” Then he lowered his hand, looking back to Ratchet with a dart of trepidation. “I think I get the picture. This has been an _informative_ conversation.”  
  
Ratchet did laugh this time, short and sharp. “That was the general idea, yes.”  
  
Smokescreen was about to turn and leave, to go lie down, go throw the lob ball around, to do _something_ , just to get away from Ratchet and his terrible, terrible knowledge, when the general alarm began to blare.  
  
Everyone scrambled towards the main computer console, with the exception of Optimus, who was already there, and Bulkhead, who was on patrol. They gathered quietly; there had been too many close calls lately, and no one wanted bad news.  
  
Ratchet spoke up first, still making his way from the medical unit.  
  
“What is it? Another attack on a research facility?”  
  
Optimus shook his helm.  
  
“Two unidentified aircraft have entered our airspace.”  
  
Ultra Magnus shouldered closer to the display, and asked, “Decepticons?”  
  
Behind him Wheeljack snorted. “What do you think?”  
  
Magnus was about to reply, but Optimus cut in smoothly. “It would be prudent to ere on the side of caution.”  
  
They all watched breathlessly as the two bogeys strafed across the screen, far more rapid than even Decepticons travelled under normal circumstances. Smokescreen was aware distantly of Optimus comming Bulkhead back to base, but his attention was fully on the screen.  
  
The two aircraft cut a straight path across the radar, one trailing behind the other. The room went still as they approached the marker that indicated their base, the subsonic whine of battle protocols being engaged the only sound. However, instead of veering towards them, the bogeys continued on their course.  
  
Both aircraft maintained a straight line, streaking across the monitor, until, just as suddenly as they had appeared, they disappeared, right out the other side of their airspace. The alarm wound down into silence.  
  
Smokescreen glanced down as Arcee elbowed past him, trying to get a better look. “Well that was strange.”  
  
“You’re telling me, they flew right by us. Probably didn’t even know we were here.” Wheeljack said.  
  
The tension in the room dissipated instantly. Well for the most part. Ultra Magnus was Ultra Magnus, and incapable of being anything else.  
  
“That does not mean they won’t be back. It may have just been a scouting party.”  
  
“Flying that fast?”  
  
Smokescreen didn’t have to look to know Wheeljack was gearing up for an argument. Everyone seemed to be going back to their duties, trailing back across the warehouse. Smokescreen was about to do the same, to get to whatever he had been about to do before the alarm had sounded, when he felt a sharp jab at his abdominal plating.  
  
He turned to see Bumbebee. “Oh, hey.”  
  
Bee dipped his head in greeting. His optics whirled innocently, even as his field prickled with definite mischief. Smokescreen was instantly on edge.  
  
“So,” Bumblebee said, “what’d you talk to Ratchet about?”


	10. Interlude pt. 3: Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different.

Megatron stretched the tension from his joints, feeling the sharp sting of grinding gears and lines being drawn taut under his plating. It was a young mech’s pain, one having little to do with the countless little damages millennia of war had inflicted upon his frame, and he savored it.  
  
He had retired to his quarters for the day, knowing if anything went too terribly awry he’d be notified immediately.  
  
Today had been yet another in an ever-lengthening string of cycles that were longer than they had any right to be, considering how little was actually happening. Things had been relatively quiet for mega-cycles now. He was still waiting on Shockwave’s designs to come to fruition, though the scientist was always ready with a progress report whenever Megatron demanded one, and Knock Out had made little to no progress with his synthetic-energon experiments. The medic was far less punctual with his reports.  
  
Yesterday had come the closest to being actually eventful. A minor Autobot raid on a major mine. Megatron guessed that he was supposed to be grateful they hadn’t decided to detonate this one. Supposed to be, but he found it hard to be anything other than enraged that they had been able to find and infiltrate the mine in the first place. That they had been able to make off like thieves was added insult.  
  
Then there was the little problem of his second-in-command.  
  
It had been amusing at first, watching the seeker flounder through all the undesired attention and the malfunctions of his own traitorous frame. That was before it had cost Megatron anything. Now it seemed that Starscream’s refusal to lie in the bed of his own making was having an effect beyond his own humiliation and exasperation.  
  
Something would have to be done.  
  
And though Megatron would never admit it, he had a rather more personal stake in Starscream resolving his heat as soon as possible. There had been times in the past few cycles that he’d found it nearly impossible to override his own base programming, demanding that he see to the problem himself. Yesterday he had even had to restrain himself from doling out a well-deserved punishment.  
  
Megatron deeply resented anything that threatened his control, especially over himself. He was no mechanimal, and refused to let some archaic design quirk get the better of him.  
  
He supposed any action he might take could wait another day or two. The entertainment value of the predicament had been stripped bare in light of Starscream’s most recent failure, but that didn’t mean Megatron couldn’t glean some value from it still. The more humiliation Starscream suffered, the less likely he would repeat the actions that had led to the situation.  
  
Or so he hoped. Starscream had always been contrary.  
  
Megatron was going over sword forms when he heard the ping of an access request at the door to his quarters. He knew without having to check that it would be Soundwave. It was not unheard of for the communications officer to show up unannounced at Megatron’s quarters seeking council, and he was the only officer to whom Megatron extended the privilege.  
  
With all the recent upheaval, he supposed it had only been a matter of time before Soundwave made an appearance.  
  
Megatron opened the door and motioned Soundwave in with a quick jerk of his helm. He didn’t need to ask him what they were to talk about.  
  
The silence between them stretched tersely as Megatron made his way across his quarters toward his personal energon dispenser. Soundwave waited respectfully for him to finish, standing preternaturally still in Megatron’s receiving area. Megatron drew a small cube of midgrade for himself, knowing both that Soundwave preferred to take his energon in solitude, and that he would view much more as excessive and wasteful.  
  
A quick glance revealed Laserbeak to be conspicuously absent.  
  
Megatron gestured with the servo he held his cube in. “Out with it, then.”  
  
Soundwave’s display, which until this point had been still and black as the pools in the deep onyx caves beneath Kalis, flickered to life. He’d brought up a productivity chart, one with a distinctive downward trend.  
  
When he spoke it was with the voice of one of the vehicon foot soldiers. “We may have a problem, sir.”  
  
“I am aware of that, Soundwave, and I have full faith it will resolve itself, though I take it you have your doubts.”  
  
“…”  
  
Soundwave’s silence spoke more than any sound clip he could have drawn up from his databanks, and Megatron laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Tell me, from what new-found altruism does this concern spring?” Megatron was deflecting, unwilling to address his own inaction or the reasons behind it, and they both knew.  
  
This time Soundwave borrowed Starscream’s voice. “Y-you misunderstand!”  
  
Now his screen displayed footage from onboard the ship. Two vehicon foot soldiers in a heated brawl. There was a brief burst of compiling data and the footage switched to another hall, and another two soldiers, similarly engaged. He switched again, this time three eradicons in the mess hall. Soundwave began to rapidly cycle through security footage of dozens of similar incidents, some of which Megatron remembered, many of which he did not.  
  
Apparently in his preoccupation he had missed how deeply rooted the problem had become.  
  
Megatron then heard his own voice, gravelly under low-fidelity static.  
  
“Infighting has nearly destroyed the Decepticons-“ the recording squealed as Soundwave skipped to the next relevant part of the dialogue, “we are to operate as a united front if we are to revive and conquer Cybertron.”  
  
“Enough!” With a single gesture from Megatron, Soundwave’s screen fell back to placid blackness.  
  
Anger shot lightning quick through Megatron’s lines, blindingly hot but blessedly brief. Soundwave had taken a measured risk in using his leader’s own words against him; such impertinence was rarely tolerated, even from the trusted lieutenant.  
  
Primus only knew how Soundwave had gotten that recording.  
  
“You are as practical as ever, I see.” Megatron growled, then paused, taking a long draught from his cube. Every move was calculated, dismissing Soundwave at the same time he acknowledged the utility of his ideas. The anger that had burned so hot and bright had been dampened by the spark-deep knowledge that his TIC was _right_. No excuse was great enough to jeopardize the cause, be it petty amusement or as a form of punishment.  
  
Still, there was a reason Megatron’s relationship with Soundwave had been far less turbulent than his relationship with Starscream. Soundwave knew how difficult it was for his leader to admit to his miscalculation. He’d come here with clear intent, but allowed for Megatron to make his own decision, to form his own plan.  
  
“It seems we will have to force Starscream’s hand. This has gone on long enough.”  
  
Soundwave remained still, though his field snapped in curiosity, and he pinged Megatron with a silent _/?/_  
  
The warlord’s outward confidence was at odds with his inward conflict. To take such direct action might belie his own weakness. If Starscream caught on the only thing that would stop him from trying to take advantage of it would be his own pride, which Megatron had seen him sully over less, or his fear, which he could overcome at the promise of personal gain.  
  
“I will give him an ultimatum.” A small smirk graced Megatron’s scarred lipplates. “Either choose a partner by the end of tomorrow, or,” and now his field crackled with cruel amusement, “I shall choose for him.”


	11. Fight and Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to apologize for the delay on this chapter. I had finals in february and then it took me longer than I would've liked to get back in the swing of things. The good news is there is at the very least a rough draft (in some cases very, very rough ;) ) of every chapter after this one so the wait shouldn't be quite so long.  
> I also would like to thank everyone for the wonderful comments and kudos! I can't believe this thing broke 200, woo~
> 
> Chapter warnings: none. mind the fic tags tho

Starscream was nervous.  
  
Very nervous.  
  
The entire way up to the flight deck he fiddled with his digits, shifted restlessly on his pedes, and rolled his freshly repaired shoulder. In the end he hadn’t needed a part replacement, thank Primus for small favors, just some light rewiring.  
  
He couldn’t really pinpoint exactly what was making so nervous against the backdrop of a thousand things he was already fretting about.  
  
Perhaps it had been the restless recharge. He’d booted up this cycle feeling like he’d hardly defragged at all.  
  
Throughout the night cycle he’d been plagued by dreams, all of the same unsettling nature.  
  
Heated frames, twisting and grinding, the feeling of strong hands around his waist, the heavy weight of someone else above him.  
  
Starscream couldn’t remember any of the particulars, but he’d awoken with an implacable excess charge licking his circuits, and no time to do anything about it.  
  
It would be a Primus-damned miracle if no one noticed, and the thought raked red-hot claws of humiliation across his protoform.  
  
He could also be nervous because last night, right before his restless recharge, he’d come to a decision.  
  
Starscream had decided that he wouldn’t give Megatron the satisfaction of seeing him humiliate himself any longer. He would swallow his pride and choose a partner. The incident in the mine had shown him well enough what might happen if he let this drag on any longer. Better to choose a Decepticon, even one unworthy of him, than to end up accidentally heat-bonded to some Autobot.  
  
Today would be the perfect day for it. Today he was joining Megatron to oversee squadron drills on the flight deck. The exercise was largely ceremonial, meant to boost unit morale and unity, two things which the troops had been sorely lacking in as of late.  
  
Starscream liked to think that the presence of so many mechs might make his decision feel like an actual choice rather than the unavoidable conclusion to this whole unfortunate affair. Just pick one at random, and be done with it. Ignore the parts of his code screaming and bugging about how none of them were good enough, not for him. Ignore the presence of Megatron who, if he’d been anyone other than Megatron, would be an apt choice. Betray the protocols which had been growing stronger and stronger with each passing cycle.  
  
Easy enough.  
  
The strobe above the door to the lift flashed, indicating that he’d reached his destination. Starscream adjusted his posture, no need to let anyone in on the fact that he’d been stooped over, plotting anxiously.  
  
The door slid aside and he was buffeted by a chill high-altitude wind. A grateful sigh escaped him before he could stop it; he really had been too-long away from the open skies.  
  
Starscream strode out onto the deck with measured steps, taking quick stock of his surroundings. Two seeker squadrons, each numbering 20 mechs, stood in various states of inattention on the flight deck. Megatron was already there, of course he was. He stood imperiously at the prow of the ship, back turned, servos clasped behind him. He cut a sharp figure against the flawless blue of the sky, the flares of his armor glinting in the sun, and Starscream suddenly had the ill-advised urge to run up behind him and shove him off the ship. It was a ridiculous notion, not only because Megatron could fly, but because he was many times heavier and more massive than Starscream. He’d be lucky to even budge the brute.  
  
Starscream also had a secondary, just as ill-advised urge involving Megatron, but he tried his best to stomp that down. Despite what his base functions might be telling him, Megatron would not be a suitable choice. There was no way he’d subject himself to the humiliation of even asking, or the denial he was sure to receive. He could almost visualize the smug look of satisfaction on Megatron’s faceplates as he turned him down.  
  
The inevitable sparkmerge with Megatron would also be extremely risky. The cortical psychic patch had been terrible enough on its own, but if Megatron had free range to delve even deeper into Starscream’s mind, to see even further, to feel his motivations, it would be as good as an execution order.  
  
40 visors flashed in the sun as the troops turned to watch him make his way across the flight deck, and Starscream pretended not to notice. He stopped several paces short of Megatron, a bit further than he would normally stand, but given the circumstances he felt he could get away with a little impropriety.  
  
Megatron’s field was smothering on the best of days and Starscream considered this to be one of his worst.  
  
Starscream cleared is vocalizer of static before announcing himself, though Megatron undoubtedly knew he was there already.  
  
“Are we ready to begin, Lord Megatron?”  
  
The warlord turned sharply on his pedes, and Starscream felt instantly ill at ease. Megatron’s optics blazed far too brightly, and the teek of his field, miring through the outer corona of Starscream’s own, was nothing short of _dangerous_. Starscream’s wings lowered defensively as he eyed his commander. He was definitely up to something.  
  
“Punctual as ever, Starscream. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever show.”  
  
Starscream had to keep from grinding his oral components. He had arrived on time according to his daily itinerary, Megatron was just early.  
  
He nodded graciously instead. “My apologies, Master. Do not let me delay us any further.” Starscream motioned with a servo, and gave a small bow. Megatron didn’t acknowledge him as he started to make his way down starboard.  
  
Starscream began to trail behind, ready to call out the first line of commands, when he was cut off.  
  
“Lieutenant Commander ST-53!” Megatron rumbled.  
  
Said seeker, standing at the rightmost corner of his squadron, snapped to attention, as did everyone else on the flight deck, realizing that it was finally time to begin.  
  
“Sir!”  
  
“Begin drill sequence Delta. Let’s see if your Commander has taught you anything.”  
  
“Yes Sir!”  
  
Megatron cast a self-satisfied look back at Starscream as the Lt. Cdr. began barking out instructions, leading his fellow seekers in the exercise.  
  
Starscream fumed silently. Of course Megatron would deny him even this opportunity to prove his competence. _Of course_ Megatron would undermine him so publically, relegating Starscream’s duty to some _underling_.  
  
He kept silent, staying some few paces behind Megatron, not enjoying the suffocating way the warlord’s field cloaked his own, and not trusting himself not to be goaded into a confrontation. Starscream couldn’t be sure if it was intentional, or just the product of his own hypersensitivity. Either way the heady feeling of Megatron’s command façade, all domineering confidence and perfect control, was getting under Starscream’s plating in the worst possible way. While Starscream remained so adamantly aware of Megatron’s presence he would have a hard time paying attention to the troops.  
  
Once again Megatron had been able to effortlessly derail his Starscream’s best laid plans.  
  
Starscream began walking slower in an attempt to extract himself from his leader’s influence. This only seemed to amuse Megatron, who merely slowed down to match his pace.  
  
“Left, left, right left!”  
  
The troops were engaged in a sequence of transformation exercises, made to hone the reflex that cycled each servo into a blaster. Neither commander was paying much attention.  
  
Starscream slowed again, turning his attention to the seekers, or at least trying to. Megatron matched him, never letting Starscream trail too far behind, and they continued on like this, gradually circling the flight deck, with Starscream growing more and more irritated, and Megatron projecting more and more amusement, until Megatron finally stopped, having reached the prow once more.  
  
Starscream was also forced to come to a stop. His heels clicked against the deck as he shifted, unnerved. He glanced between the troops and Megatron, who simply gazed out over the flight deck, seeming to ignore his SIC. They stood in silence for a few kliks, and Starscream jumped when Megatron spoke up, voice pitched firm but low, to keep their conversation from being overheard.  
  
“There is something we must discuss, Starscream.”  
  
Starscream’s wings lowered in dismay, and he cursed the stammer in his voice that reflected the anxious flicker in his field.  
  
“A-and what would that be, my lord?”  
  
Megatron’s amusement disappeared in a flash as he rounded on Starscream.  
  
“Don’t play coy, it hardly suits you. You know very well what.”  
  
Starscream’s spark constricted and he tried not to panic. Why was Megatron bringing this up now? After spending so long even refusing to acknowledge it?  
  
“I don’t see what bears discussing, my Lord. We’ve both been around for some time. We both know how this goes.” He offered up, unsure.  
  
Megatron snapped. “Do we, commander? Because there is mounting evidence that you do not, in fact, _know how this goes_. Allow me to remind you.”  
  
Starscream took a half-step back as Megatron continued, blazing optics locked to his.  
  
“You _will_ choose a partner, you _will_ stop inciting violence amongst the troops, and you _will_ put an end to this infernal mess.”  
  
Megatron’s voice had risen steadily as he spoke, though they had yet to garner the attention of the troops. Starscream dipped his helm, smiling appeasingly.  
  
“But of course, master. I assure you I have given the matter no small amount of thought. A solution will soon be at hand.”  
  
“Sooner than you think, Starscream. You will resolve the matter by the end of your shift today. Choose someone, or I will choose for you.”  
  
Starscream’s optics widened in shock, and he didn’t dare to meet Megatron’s gaze. A tumultuous mix of emotions warred within him, the foremost of which was anger. Of course, that had been what he’d decided for himself, but to hear Megatron speak those words put him instantly on the defensive. This was supposed to be _his_ choice, Megatron had no right.  
  
Starscream tried to explain this in a way that was least likely to get a fusion cannon pointed at him.  
  
“With all due respect, my Lord, this is a very private matter. I am fully capable of choosing my own partner in my own time.” Starscream couldn’t help the anger bleeding into his voice, and Megatron surely felt it in his field, even as warning bells rang in his head. He shouldn’t get angry with Megatron, it never lead to anything good.  
  
Megatron’s plating flared slightly in a silent threat, and he shifted forward when Starscream stepped back, imposing and dangerous. “Your actions have spoken louder than your words. As usual you have proven yourself incapable of handling yourself and have forced me to interfere.”  
  
_‘As usual.’_ Starscream’s typical response to demands from his leader- _‘yes Megatron, of course Megatron,’_ died in his voicebox as anger clouded his processor, as well as his judgment. His wings snapped up, having remained obediently down until now.  
  
“Is that why you refused to let me lead this exercise? Because I’m incapable?” He motioned over to the troops, who undoubtedly could hear them by now. At least they had the good sense to continue as if they couldn’t. “What good is being your second in command if you never let me command?”  
  
The words slipped out before Starscream could stop himself, and he flinched back, waiting for the blow, or the feeling of a hand around his neck. It never came.  
  
Megatron had stepped closer, and was now looming over the seeker. Every inch of his frame, humming with energy and anger, served as a warning of what would happen if Starscream kept to this path. A line had been crossed.  
  
“Every responsibility I have stripped from you, you have proven yourself unable to handle!” Starscream could feel Megatron’s field bearing down as an almost physical weight. “Tell me, what good is a second in command who _can’t_ command?”  
  
That was a low blow, and they both knew it. Starscream was a fair strategist, and a skilled aerial combatant. Without his training of Megatron’s fliers the Decepticons would never have gotten as far as they had.  
  
Starscream was unable to keep himself from another damning outburst. He felt like a circuit ready to burst, or a blaster with a charge humming in the barrel. Then again, that might have just been Megatron’s fusion cannon, which was now glowing with crackling energy. He defended his wounded pride almost reflexively.  
  
“Why you-! I was commanding seeker squadrons long before you came along and I will command them long after you-“ _Long after you are gone_ , is what he was going to say, uncontrollably, inadvisably, like a missile just looking for a place to detonate.  
  
Luckily, Megatron’s roar of rage cut him off.  
  
“Enough!” Megatron took a step forward, and Starscream couldn’t help it, he stepped back, even as his wings hitched higher in challenge. He’d slipped into a fighting stance without realizing, like a cornered mechanimal.  
  
Megaton continued, plating rattling with the force of his restrained anger. “You will face the consequences for your actions. You brought this on yourself.”  
  
Starscream hissed. Who was it that had planned on having him killed? Who was it that had been all too happy to replace him? He’d had no other option but to flee, and without resources what choice had he but to scrape and scavange?  
  
Starscream drew his servo back to strike in a moment of blind rage. Then, before he’d even had a chance to follow through, Megatron caught his wrist in a crushing grip. Cold shock hit Starscream like a bolt. He looked up and their optics met for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Starscream to register a matching expression of disbelief on Megatron’s faceplates, before his world twisted and he was sent tumbling into clear, blue sky.


	12. Tumbling Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update this time! Next chapter is when it really starts getting good, promise!  
> Chapter warnings: none

Starscream’s sensory input had to be glitched, because according to all the data he was receiving, he was falling.  
  
No, that wasn’t quite right.  
  
His components ached from being pulled on when Megatron had thrown him. The sky and the ground switched places as he rolled in midair, and the sound of thrusters engaging- his, filled his audials.  
  
He wasn’t falling. He was flying.  
  
Starscream had transformed to moment he’d hit the open air. It had all happened so fast, he hadn’t had time to process it, just reacted on reflex and instinct.  
  
He rolled again, righting himself, fuselage parallel to the ground, mind at last catching up with body. All at once he became aware of the rumble of another set of jet engines, very near. A quick scan of his radar confirmed Starscream’s fears. Megatron.  
  
Starscream banked sharply, ailerons pivoting as he arced high above the ship. The troops, who had gone silent when their two leaders had begun shouting, were now in an uproar, yelling and cheering. A few had even picked up on the human habit of whistling, though their mouthless attempts were more akin to a chorus of high-pitched binary tones.  
  
Starscream could express his disgust at their blatant unprofessionalism later. For now he had much more pressing matters to deal with.  
  
Such as the quickly gaining, very enraged former gladiator on his tail.  
  
_Scrap_.  
  
His engines gave a stutter as they roared to full power, followed by the familiar pressure of a shockwave shedding off his wings as he burst to supersonic speeds. He didn’t bother to check his heading, it didn’t matter. Starscream just had to _go._  
  
Starscream could outpace Megatron any day, of that he had no doubt. Even in this strange Earth disguise, with all its wasted empty spaces, he was still Cybertronian made.  
  
But there was only so long he could maintain top speed, and he knew that eventually the forces of drag and gravity would eventually conspire against him, forcing him to slow or risk catastrophic engine failure. Megatron, even now as a flier, had been forged with endurance in mind.  
  
For now he would just have to put as much distance between himself and Megatron as possible.  
  
Starscream was surprised that Megatron had yet to begin firing. _How sporting of him._  
  
His spark chilled and he nearly went into an involuntary dive when he realized _why._  
  
Megatron had thrown him from the ship. He had then followed. Whether Megatron had meant to or not, whether he _realized_ it or not, he had triggered a courting flight. No matter how much he wanted to, Megatron would find himself unable to fire upon Starscream. His very core would revolt against it.  
  
Starscream routed more power to his engines and coolant systems, trying to eke out just a little more speed. Some traitorous part of him was almost relieved. There were protocols in place, soothing his panicked processor, telling him that this was right, this is where he was supposed to be.  
  
There was no art to this. None of the playful grace of that first pursuit through Vos with his wingmates. Millions of years and memories and experiences separated that joyful moment from this one.  
  
This was just blindly streaking across the sky. No obstacles, no surprises, no skill. Just the horrible slow death of waiting, drawing it out as long as he could.  
  
At least the protocols would be satisfied, Starscream thought bitterly.  
  
Starscream was only vaguely aware of their surroundings. At this altitude everything below registered as flat and featureless on his scanners. They passed what might have been a city, then what might have been some warehouses, with large stretches of nothing in-between. There was so much wasted space on this planet.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long they continued on like this, him pushing his engines to extremis, Megatron becoming an ever-more distant blip on his radar. This was hardly the show of skill and compatibility the pursuit was supposed to be, though Starscream supposed it was a step above being pawed at by some Autobot rookie in a filthy Earth mine.  
  
His speed climbed, as did the heat in his engines.  
  
Megatron had long stopped pinging on Starscream’s radar when he could feel his engines starting to judder under the strain. It was with something like relief that the seeker began to slow down. It wouldn’t be long now.  
  
After a time Megatron once again entered Starscream’s airspace, and the heat emanating from his engines could do nothing to reach the cold dread clenching at his spark. Soon Megatron would be on and upon him. They would interface, they would have to. There were protocols to be satisfied and programs to be followed. But as Megatron neared, that wasn’t what spurred another panicked burst of speed from Starscream’s thrusters. The interface would in all likelihood be pleasant enough. No, it was what came afterward, after Megatron had gotten a look at his spark, after the patches on his code that modified his behavior had discarded themselves.  
  
That was the part Starscream dreaded.  
  
Megatron was approaching quicker now, spurred on by his advantage of stamina. His approach was silent. At this speed sound was left behind as quickly as it was generated- Starscream had to rely on his proximal sensors and radar array to tell him what he already knew. Megatron was closing, and fast.  
  
They didn’t collide so much as implode, two forces tethered together. In that moment there was chaos, carefully controlled, but chaos all the same. It was an effort to keep the descent from becoming disastrous. Sound crashed back over Starscream’s audials as their forward momentum was cut. Megatron transformed first; Starscream could feel his claws digging gouges into his wings; either an attempt to keep them steady or an attempt to main, he wasn’t sure. The weight imbalance of Megatron straddling his fuselage pulled them both into a dive. Megatron was shouting something as Starscream’s ground proximity sensors began throwing urgent warnings across his HUD.  
  
Starsceam spiraled back into root mode, twisting out of Megatron’s reach as not to get any parts stuck. The ground was coming up faster than could even facilitate a countdown, and Starscream tried to brace himself. They’d fallen too far, too fast. Another mistake to add to a list that kept growing and growing.  
  
At that moment Starscream felt a servo wrap around his arm, pulling him, tugging him through the air as if he wasn’t already disoriented enough. He dared to online his optics, to catch the dizzying spiral of blue sky and red desert floor, soon replaced with the solid silver of Megatron’s chest. Starscream felt Megatron’s arms wrap around him, tight enough to be painful. The warlord was orienting them so he would take the brunt of the impact. Starscream had just enough time to glance at Megatron’s faceplates- he looked angry, frustrated. He was doing this for his own sake just as much as Starscream’s.  
  
Then the world went black as they hit the ground.


	13. Bed of Nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof! This one took a while. Apologies, but here it is!! We're in the home stretch now, only two more chapters and an epilogue, which is already complete.  
> Sorry for not replying to comments on that last one, just know I read and appreciate every one!! <3
> 
> Chapter warnings: begrudging Sticky sex/interfacing. I hoped I made it clear that the hesitation is mutual, but if ya'll think there needs to be any other tags/warnings, I am open to suggestions!!

According to Starscream’s chronometer readouts it took just over two kliks for his optics to reset, as well as most of his internal systems. Thanks to Megatron the landing hadn’t been nearly as painful as it could have been, but Starscream still felt unsteady, like he’d managed to knock something loose. He could feel more than hear the worrying whirr-click of some component that had been jarred out of place, though it settled once he moved to push himself up.  
  
Megatron lay limply beneath him, and for a moment Starscream had the wild hope that his glorious leader had managed to knock himself offline with that inglorious stunt, perhaps even permanently.  
  
But Starscream had never been, and would never be that lucky. It was mere moments before Megatron began to stir, and Starscream could feel flicker of his awakening EM field against his own.  
  
The change was instantaneous. A cascade coding being rewritten or replaced, protocols onlining, systems output fluxes, and at the core of it all, the feeling of heat building beneath his panel. His weapons systems locked offline, his interface protocols locked online.  
  
Starscream tried and failed to keep his ventilations even, panic and arousal rising in equal measures.  
  
Megatron was staring up at him. An interesting play of emotions crossed his plates. He seemed at first dazed, then angry. Then as he seemed to realize what had happened, and what was _happening_ , he snarled and shoved Starscream unceremoniously onto the ground.  
  
“You fool, what have you done?!”  
  
Starscream really wished he was in a better position to enjoy Megatron being so obviously flustered. As it was he was having a hard time convincing himself not to just climb right back into Megatron’s lap. And the worst part was Starscream couldn’t find it in him to hate himself for it.  
  
“What did _I_ do? You’re the one who initiated! I didn’t even ask you to!”  
  
Megatron’s reply was non-verbal. He just grunted as he hefted his mass off the ground, then began to pace. His shoulders hunched in a way Starscream knew meant he would be charging his fusion cannon, if only he could, conflict made explicit by the flagging of his field- growing lust tainted by fierce resentment, lashing out like an angry cloud.  
  
Starscream was surprised they hadn’t fallen together instantly, that they’d been able to resist the drives even for this short window of time. This was very different than his recollection of that long-ago time with Thundercracker. Then again he and Megatron weren’t exactly a pair of overcharged youngsters, fresh from a joy flight.  
  
A few moments passed in silence, Starscream sitting apprehensively where he’d been deposited on the ground, unsubtly rubbing his thighs together in an attempt to work off his building charge, Megatron pacing wildly, kicking up sand and dirt in his wake. Each thunderous footfall sent little jolts through Starscream’s sensornet, small shocks of fear and arousal. It was only a matter of time before his higher functions caved and they both gave in to their base urges.  
  
Abruptly, Megatron stopped, looking resigned, and dropped to his knees. Starscream’s fans cycled on as his frame reacted to the sudden proximity, every alloy of his being burning to close the remaining distance.  
  
“I should have known it would end up like this.” Megatron admitted. “I’m always having to clean up your messes”  
  
Starscream’s wings canted forward in interest even as his voice dripped with scorn. “There wouldn’t be a mess to clean up if you hadn’t-“ Hadn’t what? Thrown him off the ship? Tried to have him replaced? Tried to kill him in the first place? There were a dozen things they both could’ve done not to end up here. Yet here they were, all the same. Starscream bit down on his resentment. “Never mind. There’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just get this over with.”  
  
Still Megatron hesitated, refusing to close that final distance between them. His optics appeared washed out in the unyielding light of Earth’s resident star. What ever was churning around his processor was going to be well-chewed by the time he spat it out. If this were any other situation, Starscream would be pressing the advantage of Megatron’s hesitation. As it was, the seeker simply sat back and waited, every ventilation doing less to cool his frame, every second ticking down to the moment he lost hold of his fragile composure.  
  
Megatron was too talented an orator to let any of his hesitation bleed through when he spoke. His voice only carried a calculated disdain and finality.  
  
“This changes nothing between us.”  
  
Starscream snorted, a contradictory burst of static which grated even on his own audials.  
  
“Of course not. Only a fool would assume otherwise.”  
  
It was a testament to the effectiveness of the heat codes that Megatron didn’t follow up with a threat. He just shifted forward, and Starscream could hardly think for the thick, rapid pulsing of his spark. Evidently the time for talking was over.  
  
Starscream shuttered his optics and held still, though his every instinct was to reach out. He could feel Megatron’s palm, sun and stress warmed, slide over his shin guard, climbing towards his thigh. Starscream’s charge, which had settled to an uneasy background roiling, spiked frenetically at such a simple touch. He drew a shuttering ventilation and onlined his optics.  
  
That was a mistake. Despite the seductive whisper of the heat programming, the presence of Megatron looming over him, the sight of Megatron’s hands on him, _the sun glinting off those wicked claws_ , sent a bolt of cold panic through Starscream’s circuits. Too often had those hands fallen on him in violence, and a thousand memories surged to the surface of Starscream’s processor, momentarily muffling the persuasive call of his programming. He jerked out of Megatron’s grasp before he could stop himself, voice stuttering.  
  
“W-wait, stop!”  
  
To his utter surprise, Megatron did. He backed off, settling his weight on his pedes and ex-venting loudly, allowing them room to cool their systems and processors.  
  
“You do realize that touching is necessary part of the process?”  
  
“Of course I do, I…” Starscream let the sentence trail off, knowing it would be best for both of them not to address his problem directly. Instead, he opted to change subjects. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t order Soundwave to do it. I’m sure at some point I would’ve been desperate enough to agree.”  
  
Megatron’s optics lit up with amusement, and he laughed, short and sharp.  
  
“I wouldn’t inflict you even upon my worst enemy. Besides,” Megatron, evidently losing the battle with his own protocols, shifted, caging Starscream between his limbs, yet not touching, “I must admit I derived some amusement from your suffering.”  
  
“Of course you did.” Starscream sneered.  
  
“You were being far too prideful. I thought to teach you a lesson.”  
  
Starscream let his gaze slide to their surroundings. He believed this area was known as the Badlands, a remote region. The earth was scored with ravines and wind-carved monuments of stone, all colored the same deep orange. It was unlikely that they would be disturbed.  
  
His optics snapped to Megatron, quick enough to catch the ravenous way his gaze lingered on his form.  
  
“Then why did you do it?”  
  
Megatron reached out again, and when Starscream didn’t object he crawled forward, until the heat pouring out of his vents was practically smothering the smaller bot. He brought one servo down to play with the dips at Starscream’s hip fairing.  
  
“It was a moment of weakness, I suppose.” Megatron rumbled.  
  
“Funny, I didn’t realize the _mighty Megatron_ had those.” Starscream purred.  
  
At Megatron’s glare Starscream decided to keep further comment to himself. Optics offline again, he gave himself over to sensation. Megatron’s hands felt…nice, despite the imminent spectre of bodily harm. That would likely complicate matters later, but for now could be ignored.  
  
Starscream sat as still as he could as Megatron worked him over, letting the programming work its magic. Every circuit in his frame was swamped with charge, leaving him feeling syrupy and warm. Megatron’s touches were largely exploratory in nature, and Starscream wondered if Megatron had ever been with a seeker before. It seemed unlikely- Megatron had rarely dallied.  
  
Megatron’s servos wrapped around Starscream’s middle, thumbs dragging tingling lines on the sensitive seams on either side of his cockpit glass. His massive servos easily encircled Starscream’s narrow waist.  
  
It was when Megatron began to press him back into the dirt, urging him with those large servos, that Starscream felt another jolt of hesitation, though this one was far lesser.  
  
“Wait.” The seeker splayed his spindly digits against Megatron’s chest, though he knew his chances of actually moving him were slim.  
  
A look of frustration crossed Megatron’s faceplates, and his voice was rough with an edge of static when he spoke.  
  
“Believe me when I say I find the idea as unappealing as you do but we must-“  
  
Starscream felt confidant cutting off Megatron in a way he wouldn’t have in any other situation.  
  
“It’s not that! I won’t have you fragging me into the filthy ground.” This time when Starscream pressed against Megatron, he moved, settling back until he was kneeling with Starscream straddling his lap. His hands still circled Starscream’s waist, though they now settled to rest of his hip fairing.  
  
Starscream gasped at the sudden proximity and the sweet tension of his thighs spread so wide. Their hips were close like this, and Starscream could feel the heat radiating from behind Megatron’s panel, twin to his own. He caressed circles over the brute’s chestplates, reassuring himself more than anything.  
  
Megatron wound a hand down over Starscream’s aft, his hand so large that he could cup the seeker’s entire undercarriage. He began rubbing at Starscream’s panel, spreading around the lubricant that had already leaked.  
  
Starscream pressed down into that hand, every sensation more intense due to his state. Starscream’s panel snapped open after only a few moments, and he buried his face in Megatron’s shoulder plates, half to muffle the needy sounds escaping his vocalizer, half so they wouldn’t have to look each other in the optics as he bared himself.  
  
Lubricant, slick and body warm, slid over Megatron’s digits, pooling in his palm. He wasted no time pressing two digits into the inviting heat of Starscream’s valve, though he bit off an oath upon realizing how tight he was.  
  
Starscream winced as Megatron’s digits, so much thicker than his own, entered him. Starscream’s frame, juiced up and needy from the heat protocols, would do most of the heavy lifting, but their size difference would take some work to overcome. Megatron was careful with his claws, made more aware than ever of the damage any careless movements might do. Where normally he might have taken his own pleasure, now it had to be shared, to allow for such desire and trust that they might both bare their sparks- only then would this humiliating ritual be complete.  
  
After a few more moments of prodding Megatron rumbled something under his breath. It took Starscream a moment to process the question.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
And Starscream almost said yes, before he thought better of it. The sting around the rim of his valve had yet to truly fade, though Megatron’s digits still elicited pleasurable sighs and gasps from where they prodded and scraped against sensitive internal nodes.  
  
Mutely, Starscream shook his head, and Megatron redoubled his efforts, slowing to an almost agonizing pace. Starscream rocked his hips in time with Megatron’s digits, helping him find all the right spots, his own servos gripped tightly to the flares of Megatron’s plating, to keep himself steady. Soon two digits weren’t enough, and Megatron was able to add a third, and now the stretch seemed wonderful instead of daunting. Starscream’s movements became more urgent, hips cycling faster on Megatron’s claws.  
  
He felt more than heard the quiet _–snick-_ of Megatron’s interface panel transforming aside, and glanced down to see just what he would be dealing with. Megatron’s spike was expectedly large, thicker than Starscream’s, plain unadorned silver, with highlights of engorged purplish protoflesh between the gaps in the plating. Starscream reached between them to grasp it. Megatron rumbled out a curse as Starscream began to move his hand. If he wrapped himself up enough in _what_ he was doing, he might be able to avoid thinking about _who_ he was doing it to.  
  
Megatron was just as stoic in his pleasure as Starscream has suspected he would be, the roar of his fans the only indication of the insensible arousal coloring his field.  
  
Finally, once enough liquid heat had pooled between Starscream’s legs, the seeker lifted himself up, using the great flares of Megatron’s plating for leverage.  
  
“Alright.” He murmured into Megatrons audial.  
  
Megatron shifted his grip so both servos wrapped around Starscream’s hips, and Starscream felt the absence of those digits keenly. He adjusted his grip on Megatron’s spike, guiding it to his entrance, and began to lower himself.  
  
At the first touch of Starscream’s slick outer folds, Megatron tried to buck up, seeking relief in that tight heat. This prompted an indignant shriek from his second, who batted his free hand against Megatron’s plating.  
  
“You let me do this or so help me I’ll cut it off and feed it to that beast you love so much!”  
  
Megatron’s heavy-duty engine laughter sent pleasurable little tremors through Starscream’s frame where ever they touched.  
  
Slowly, and with the utmost care, Starscream sank down onto Megatron’s spike. It was a tight fit, Starscream’s aperture spreading wider than it would normally ever be forced to. Then, with a twist of his hips and a final shock of pleasure, Starscream was finally fully seated on the spike.  
  
They both stilled, and Starscream rested his helm against Megatron’s chest, gasping for cool air. His thighs trembled with the effort not to move, and below him the deep thrum of Megatron’s stellar engines belied how strained the larger mech was as well. Starscream’s wings moved in fitful little circles through the sub-sonic waves.  
  
Once he’d felt he’d adjusted enough, Starscream began to move, lifting his hips by fractions, before sinking back down. The feeling was incredible- being stuffed so full that each node felt equal pressure. Starscream felt hazy with pleasure.  
  
It only took a few more slow slides in and out of Starscream’s valve for Megatron to begin to move on his own. His grip on Starscream’s hips tightened, and he pulled the seeker down until their hips were flush, slowly but firmly. Starscream gave a soft cry as he began to relinquish control. Any kind of take-charge display by Megatron being weighed and measured by his guiding protocols as desirable. He didn’t need to direct Megatron verbally- they were both quite literally on the same wavelength.  
  
Megatron lifted his lithe SIC, guiding Starscream almost entirely off his spike before pulling him back down, faster this time. He repeated the movement, again, and again, slightly faster each time, thrusting a little harder. Soon the rhythm became brutal, leaving Starscream panting and scrabbling for purchase on Megatron’s chassis.  
  
There were no words between them- anything that might be said carried with it the threat of breaking the tenuous peace, this no-think place where they could heed the call between their frames. Each thrust was a direct hit to Starscream’s ceiling node, right up to the top of his channel, and he was swiftly being tipped towards overload. He clung to the edge, unable to fall just yet.  
  
Megatron shifted his grip, one hand moving to encircle Starscream’s thigh, opening him that slight bit more, changing the angle. More friction, more heat, more tension.  
  
Overload crashed over Starscream like a great wave, sending great crescendos of energy skittering across his circuits. Tremors shook his thighs and wings as his claws dug into Megatron’s plating, now drawing energon. His valve cycled down futilely on the thick girth of Megatron’s spike. Starscream remained silent, voicebox seized in rapturous surprise and offlined his optics. He was unable to think but to hope that his chestplates would unlock, and end this here and now. They remained stubbornly in place. So long as his spark still shrunk back in fear of Megatron, he would be unable to access the normal commands.  
  
Megatron continued thrusting up into him, movements labored and jagged. His grunts and gasps filled Starscream’s audials, and the continued stimulation to his valve sent shocks of pleasure-pain through his systems, causing his hips to move erratically. Finally, Megatron found his release. He thrust once, twice more, before roaring in completion, spilling deep inside.  
  
At the hot spill of transfluid Starscream felt a contrary surge of well-being wash through him- the heat protocols whispering that all was right. His flight engines purred contentedly.  
  
The peace between them hung by a thread, as if at any moment the reality of what they had done, and what they still had to do, would come crashing down around them. As Megatron was still cooling off, Starscream took the task of disengaging upon himself. He pushed back from Megatron and stood on shaking legs, grimacing at the obscene sound of spike slipping from valve.  
  
Megatron reached out, as if to pull him back, but stopped himself, looking away with a huff. There were certain realities that had to be dealt with.  
  
“I’ll call for a groundbridge.” Megatron’s face was unreadable as he spoke, and he only looked directly at Starscream to catch his nod of assent.  
  
“Best be discrete about it. Private quarters if possible.” Starscream knew they were far from finished. Their overloads had done their work in dispelling charge, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.  
  
“I’ll alert Soundwave.” Then the air was filled with the prickly feeling of encoded long-range communication.  
  
Starscream glanced down at himself, thighs stained bright silver, and a strange emotion crackled static behind his optics.


	14. Performance Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: sticky sex, discussions of class-warfare & oppression (idk either man it just happened)
> 
> also: i saw [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/4f343815c0fa2ffab69cb44593e79f69/tumblr_nr8e43FQY81qgh5klo1_1280.jpg) screenshot about halfway through writing this chapter and had to make some... revisions.  
> This chapter is pretty long, almost twice the length of any of the others, and the next chapter is likely to be even longer, so I thank you in advance for your patience.  
> As always I'd like to thank every one who's left kudos and comments!!! You guys rock <3

The ground bridge deposited them directly into Megatron’s quarters.  
  
“Well this saves us some time.” Starscream muttered. Megatron acknowledged him with a tilt of his helm.  
  
“Soundwave is nothing if not discreet. Besides, neither of us will be able to return to duty until this is over. We must try to conclude this as quickly as possible.”  
  
Starscream had the presence of mind to peer around, curious to see how much had changed since the last time he’d been in here- after Megatron had gone on one of his extended absences, but before Soundwave had thought to better encrypt the lock. He’d been interested in seeing what kind of mementos their leader kept, if any. All the better if they could be used for blackmail. Starscream didn’t like to think of it as a _breach of privacy with the intent of treachery_ , or however Soundwave had put it, but a necessary evil as Acting Commander. There might be clues to their glorious leader’s location in his quarters, after all.  
  
And, technically speaking, could the set of rooms really even be considered Megatron’s? For how could one claim ownership over another mech, even if it was just part of him? Poor Trypticon’s memory seemed to have eroded over the centuries, even to those who supposedly knew him best.  
  
None of those excuses had passed muster with Soundwave, unfortunately.  
  
Megatron’s quarters were much as Starscream remembered them. Larger than was standard, yet sparsely furnished. The door opened into a small receiving area, which was occupied by some low, backless seats- to accommodate any frame type. Megatron’s berth and workstation were set up behind this, facing each other on opposite sides of the room. Between them was a wide, empty space with markings on the floor whose purpose escaped Starscream. The back wall held an energon dispenser and door leading to Megatron’s private washracks  
  
Megatron had disappointingly few personal effects. Above his berth he had mounted a large curved blade. Starscream found it an odd object to covet- it was neither beautiful nor well crafted. It was of Golden Age design, but a design that had been mass produced.  
  
A small shelf full of old data pads rounded out Megatron’s collection. Starscream had already perused them. They were all old legends and strategies. The only one that had been even slightly interesting was a collection of anonymously-attributed poetry, more than half of which were romantic sonnets.  
  
Starscream’s vision tunneled on the door to the washracks. He figured he would have enough time for a rinse before his charge ramped up to the point where he was once again throwing himself as Megatron. The seeker didn’t like to think of himself as vain, not like Knock Out, but as fastidious. He loathed to feel dirty or gritty, and the sentiment had only doubled after his tenure slumming it in the wilds of this planet.  
  
There was also another desire there, to put a wall between himself and Megatron. To purchase a moment of privacy with which to regain some composure. Starscream paused outside the washrack door.  
  
“I’m dusty.” He said by way of explanation. “From the crash.”  
  
Starscream then closed the door behind him, cutting off any response Megatron might have had.  
  
The washracks were also larger than normal, though that made sense given Megatron’s frame type. Starscream quickly set the spray on full-blast, sluicing off the fine coat of desert dust that had settled over him. It felt nice, and the warmth helped still the tremors in his hands, tremors that he hadn’t noticed until they were gone. The steady pressure felt nice too, and it left his plating tingling, like a light caress.  
  
Was the solvent really that hot, or was it his core temperature rising again? Starscream opened his vents all the way, blasting warm air into the small space, instantly vaporizing much the liquid into a refreshing chemical steam. He felt almost normal like this, falling into the easy routine of grooming.  
  
Starscream turned under the spray to make sure every inch of his frame was clean, and when the washrack door slid open behind him, he wished he could say he was surprised. He glanced back over the sweep of his wings at Megatron standing sullenly in the doorway. The Terror of Kaon shifted restlessly from pede to pede like a petulant youngling. It would have been driving him mad to have Starscream out of his sight for so long. Starscream noted that he’d divested himself of his fusion cannon.  
  
“I’d forgotten how strong the drives are.”  
  
Starscream was silent for a moment, peaceful mood gone. “It’s been a long time. Longer for some of us than others.” Then, knowing where it would lead and that he could only put it off so long, Starscream added. “Come in, you’re letting all the steam out.”  
  
The clenching anxiety simmering in Starscream’s tanks didn’t settle, it was merely masked by the reactions Megatron’s proximity drew from his frame. Heat was building distinctly between his legs, and Megatron was obscured by a fresh cloud of steam.  
  
The door closed and Starscream covered his nervousness by fluttering his wings invitingly.  
  
“Get my back, would you?”  
  
Megatron rumbled something deep in his chest, but stepped closer. Starscream didn’t realize how close until he felt claws brush gently against his thruster, before moving down over his spinal struts. The seeker shivered.  
  
“That is not what I came in here for.” Megatron spoke directly into Starscream’s audial, his ventilations hot on his neck. Starscream’s physical response was immediate and hard to control- he couldn’t help but to press back against Megatron. Still, he needed to be able to relax in an enclosed space with Megatron. He’d used a little bit of mutual grooming to break the ice on more than one occasion.  
  
“Do it anyway.” Starscream said, his voice edged with static. He flexed his wings so that the seams and joints on his back gapped slightly.  
  
“If you insist.” Megatron sighed, raising his hands to dip his claws into Starscream’s wing joints.  
  
Starscream had to brace himself against the solvent-slick wall to keep from buckling at the knees. He was far more sensitive than he’d anticipated. He cut his vocalizer to keep any noises from escaping and held as still as possible as Megatron went to work.  
  
There was a small undercurrent of pain to Megatron’s ministrations, the tight pinching relief of crimped wires straightening, debris coming clear. Starscream let his helm rest against the wall, and slowly he felt some modicum of his tension ease, only to be replaced by another, warmer kind of tension as Megatron’s servos slowly drifted lower and lower.  
  
A small tremor ran through Starscream’s frame, rolling out in waves and terminating in his wings, giving away his heightened state of arousal. As if his plating heating under Megatron’s hands wasn’t evidence enough. Starscream gasped silently as Megatron plucked at a particularly sensitive spot, lifting one of the dorsal plates over his spinal struts to straighten some lines and flick away a piece of gravel. He continued to massage the lines, rolling them slightly with his digitips and hummed thoughtfully.  
  
It was intimate in a way that was almost profane, this rooting around in his internals. Just as easily as Megatron could add static pleasure to Starscream’s already rising charge, he could cross his claws and cut the lines, leaving Starscream disabled or leaking out.  
  
Starscream had to trust that Megatron wouldn’t do that to him. Not here, not now. If he couldn’t have faith in Megatron, he would have to have faith in the heat protocols.  
  
Megatron withdrew his servo and smoothed the plating back in place with a caress.  
  
Then, having run out of places to touch on his back, Megatron dipped a servo between Starscream’s thighs.  
  
Starscream optics snapped online with a burst of distortion and he realized two things, the first being that he had offlined his optics, and the second being that, at some point during the massage his panel had opened, and he hadn’t even noticed.  
  
He was too revved up and hazy to be embarrassed. He just spread his legs wider to give Megatron better access, and pressed back against his hand.  
  
The roar from Megatron’s fans and a new outpouring of steam signaled his approval.  
  
Starscream almost forgot to turn his vocalizer back on before he addressed Megatron, but only managed a staticky moan as two digits slid easily into his already-slick valve.  
  
“Find what you came in here for?” He finally managed, almost teasingly, adding a layer to the illusion.  
  
Megatron pressed against him, and Starscream leaned forward obligingly until he was tight against the wall.  
  
“Very nearly.” Megatron replied. He punctuated this by curling his digits rhythmically within Starscream, feeling out the locations of sensor nodes. The seeker gasped.  
  
“Well hurry up.” Starscream murmured, wriggling his hips impatiently. “I need-“  
  
He was cut off by his own strangled cry as Megatron slipped his digits almost entirely out of Starscream’s valve, only to hook them in his rim and _spread_ , holding him open. The burn was sweet, just this side of painful, and yet the stretch was not enough. His valve cycled down on nothing.  
  
Megatron’s voice rumbled close to his audial.  
  
“What was it you were saying? What do you need?”  
  
Starscream hissed out a curse Vosian. The hot, needy throbbing between his legs was growing worse by the second. “I need you to frag me through this wall, Primus take you!” He punctuated the demand with a frustrated flick of his wings, knowing they would hit Megatron, wedged between them as he was.  
  
“Oh, is that all?” Then, with the hand not currently by teasing Starscream’s valve, Megatron tilted the seeker’s hips back.  
  
Starscream shuttered his optics as Megatron withdrew his digits, anticipating the satisfying feeling of being filled. Instead he got a few moments of heavy silence, broken only by the steady patter of solvent and the combined roar of their fans and ventilations. Then, strangely, Megatron sighed.  
  
“This isn’t going to work. Turn around.”  
  
“What do you mean it’s not going to work?” Starscream’s optics snapped on as he complied, prickling with irritation. He was greeted with the sight of Megatron, optics darkened with desire, looming over him. The solvent spray hit the warlord square in the shoulder, sluicing tantalizingly down his plating in rivulets. Starscream cast a heated look over Megatron’s frame, from his helm to his hips and –oh, he was beginning to get the picture.  
  
“You’re too short.” Megatron’s pelvic array was very nearly chest height to Starscream. Fragging this way wasn’t just impractical- it was impossible. If such a thing weren’t completely out of the realm of possibility, Starscream could have sworn that Megatron was embarrassed.  
  
“You mean you’re too tall.” Starscream quipped, even as he reached up to find handholds on Megatron’s shoulders. He was momentarily amazed by his own lack of hesitation in touching his leader, but such was the nature of the heat-bond.  
  
“Regardless, this way will be much easier.” Megatron hefted Starscream up easily, one hand at his waist, the other gripping a thigh. Starscream heated up at being handled so effortlessly- the coding whispering sweet things in the back of his processor about how strong his mate was, how virile. Starscream hooked his slender legs over Megatron’s hips, pulling their arrays flush. He was hardly surprised to find that Megatron had popped his panel as well. His spike slid wide of the seeker’s valve, rutting lightly at inner apex of his thigh instead. The sensor-rich mesh around Starscream’s valve fetched up against hot metal and Starscream groaned, shifting his hips needily.  
  
There was a bit of push-and-pull as they centered properly, followed by the ventless moment where they suddenly fit together, like a ball in a socket. Then, without preamble, Megatron thrust home.  
  
Starscream keened as he was filled so suddenly and completely, the empty ache inside him dissipating in a sparkpulse. His arms came up to wrap around Megatron’s neck, though he carefully avoided making optic contact. That was the one disadvantage of this position, as unlikely as it was that he would find anything other than heat-coded lust in Megatron’s gaze. Starscream could all too easily picture the ways Megatron usually looked at him, either with disdain or cruel amusement, and he couldn’t handle that, not right now.  
  
Megatron groaned, his grip on Starscream tightening, and thrust again. Starscream pressed his hips into the movement and they quickly found a rhythm, easier than the first time. Megatron’s spike filled him wide and deep, easily stimulating deep-set sensors that Starscream struggled to even brush during the rare valve-oriented self-service.  
  
Starscream had the urge to occupy his mouth, to kiss and to lick like he would have normally done in an interface. But the thought of sharing that one last intimacy with Megatron filled him with the same sort of dread he’d felt on the desert floor. They weren’t lovers, and these weren’t acts done out of passion or ardor. He settled for pressing open-mouthed gasps at the crux of Megatron’s neck and shoulder, oral lubricants leaving sticky trails over the plating.  
  
Wings beat futilely against the wall, and Starscream allowed his optics to offline again, losing track of everything that wasn’t the hot heavy slide of a spike in his valve, or the feeling of being supported and surrounded by the strong frame of another.  
  
White heat was building steadily in his core, small cries escaping his vocalizer with every thrust that Megatron drove into him. Starscream pressed his heels into Megatron’s aft, trying to coax him closer and impossibly deeper, craving that friction where he needed it most. Megatron shifted his grip, pressing the hand that wasn’t around Starscream’s thigh to the small of his back. He tilted the seeker’s hips forward, changing the angle of penetration, and Starscream yelped. The new angle meant that Megatron’s spike was now pressing more firmly across the sensitive nodes along the anterior wall of Starscream’s valve with every thrust.  
  
A glance down told him that Megatron’s servo almost completely encircled his waist, that if he wanted to Megatron could just hold him up and frag him like some kind of toy. The thought sent hot spears of humiliation through Starscream’s frame, yet was somehow incredibly arousing in a way he didn’t want to examine.  
  
Megatron’s pace was growing faster, his thrusts wilder. Starscream tried his best to roll his hips to meet each thrust, but Megatron had him firmly against the wall, making most movements difficult. He could do little more than to hold on for dear life as Megatron’s ventilations became ragged and his movements sharp and desperate. Starscream’s charge was rising like a white hot wave, and when he felt the prickle of pain from where Megatron was holding him too tight, that wave broke. Starscream gave a choked, staticky cry as overload crashed through his systems, valve pulsing wildly around the spike still pumping in and out of it. Megatron managed only two more thrusts before he was shuddering through his own overload, pumping a fresh load of transfluid deep into Starscream’s valve.  
  
Once again the feeling of Megatron’s spill inside him stilled Starscream to his very core, satisfying in a way that wasn’t wholly sexual. It was like a warm sheet of mylar settling over his processor.  
  
They slumped together in silence for a few kliks, fans gradually cycling down. Megatron’s spike was still twitching within him, overload still ebbing, and Starscream let his processor blank. For how long, he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t aware of being moved until his pedes touched the floor. Starscream stumbled, not prepared to support himself, and gradually came back to reality. His processor buzzed pleasantly from overload and it was difficult to focus. Megatron was speaking.  
  
“Come.” He said, turning off the shower. “I’m certain you need to refuel even worse than I do.”  
  
Starscream checked the systems alerts that he’d been too distracted to read since their crash landing in the desert, and was almost alarmed by how low he’d let his levels drop. As pointless as it was he took a moment to make sure he was presentable. His spike had slid from its housing during their activities, though he noted it remained stubbornly flaccid. Yet another side effect of the heat coding. Starscream made sure everything was in its place before closing his panel, and exiting the washracks.  
  
Megatron was waiting with two cubes. He wordlessly shoved one into Starscream’s servos before stalking off to sit heavily on the berth. Starscream downed his cube eagerly, almost gratefully. It tickled something in the back of his processor to have the Mighty Megatron waiting on him, but he was careful not to let his amusement show in his expression.  
  
Once he’d finished he set the empty shell aside and began to approach the berth, where Megatron was casting a stormy expression into his half-finished cube.  
  
“Better finish that.” Starscream commented. He set down next to Megatron, close but not touching. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very long cycle.” Megatron cast an unreadable look his way.  
  
“Funny, I was beginning to get that impression as well.” He tone suggested that he didn’t find it very funny at all, but he threw the rest of the cube back in one swift motion. Then the empty shell clattered hollowly against the floor.  
  
Starscream looked down at his lap for a moment and drummed his claws in staccato rhythm, half thoughtful, half nervous.  
  
“What happens if it goes on _too_ long? If…” He let the question trail off, unwilling to give voice to his fears. If he was unable to relax, if he was unable to share sparks in good faith. He had nothing to compare this to- his last heat was a poor precedent for this farce. He had trusted Thundercracker implicitly.  
  
“There is no _if._ ” Megatron said. “Either the coding will grow strong enough that you can merge or it won’t. In the case of the latter there are medical overrides that will allow you to bear your spark, but they won’t fool the programming. The merge will not _take._ ”  
  
Starscream vented in exasperation. “Meaning I’d be back in this situation in a few months’ time anyway. The cycle would just start again. Primus.” He groaned and just barely resisted the urge to curl up on himself, exhausted even if just in theory. More anxiety, more fighting, more chaos swirling around him. Then, his attention snapped back to Megatron. “How do you know all this?”  
  
Megatron was silent for a moment, staring off with a look that might charitably be called _thoughtful_ but was more akin to _calculating_.  
  
“One of the inevitable results of an oppressive regime is the traumatization of the oppressed. Not all castes had the luxury of being able to trust their peers, though this was through no fault of the individual. Death was the only constant in the mines, seeming to come at random, from all directions. At times it came swiftly and violently, other times slowly and agonizingly. The place was a cauldron of insanity that swallowed up all who were unfortunate to end up there.” He fell into silence again, and for a moment Starscream thought that was all the explanation he was getting. This was all rhetoric he’d heard before, but he’d never thought to apply it practically. Then, Megatron continued. “When you spend your entire function in a constant state of awareness of your own mortality, it is difficult to relax for any reason. The medical overrides were implemented out of necessity, to keep production moving and to keep the labor forces on task. Dealing with the effects of a heat every so often was infinitely preferable to actually getting sparked.”  
  
Starscream just stared at Megatron. When it was put like that, his own concerns seemed almost petty. Almost, but not quite. If overwrought stories of how much worse things had been in the past were all it took for Starscream to put aside his self-interest, Megatron would have a much more faithful second-in-command, and they likely wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.  
  
“Then it seems to me we ought to try our level best to end this before it gets out of hand.” Starscream stretched, arcing his back slightly and raising his arms above his helm. Things had gotten far too political, far too quickly. He peeked through one optic to watch the way Megatron’s gaze lingered over his frame.  
  
“One could argue that it’s far too late for that, Starscream, but I must agree. There is no use in prolonging this ordeal. We do have a war to run, after all.” There was a small smile in Megatron’s voice, even if it didn’t make it to his faceplates.  
  
The seeker gave a little purr at the use of the word ‘we.’ It was nice to have his contribution acknowledged, even indirectly. He wondered how much of Megatron’s behavior was the heat coding softening his hostility, and how much of it was calculated, specifically to increase his comfort levels.  
  
Then Starscream was being pulled onto Megatron’s lap, and he found it difficult to wonder about anything at all.


End file.
